


Champion

by Monstrosibee



Series: Championing A Cause [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Nightbeat lives au, Skids lives au, lost light titan au, set right after they find cyberutopia but before the functionist universe punches into thirs, taao can go fuck itself au, this isnt exclusively about nautilotty but it is a Big Part of velocitys character evolution, unicron is Not Happening au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-08-20 13:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16556480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monstrosibee/pseuds/Monstrosibee
Summary: The Lost Light may be a ship, but even the most dour bot on board will admit that it seems to have a personality. Velocity herself thinks she can even sometimes feel the beat of a spark in its engine warmed walls, but she keeps that to herself for the most part, until the discovery of a new and very unique crew mate forces her to confront her suspicions about the mysterious ship. And this unique crew mate may be more familiar than even she realizes.





	1. Closing Time

The hour near closing time was always the quietest at Swerve’s bar, but tonight Velocity noted that it was even emptier than usual when she slumped through the door and took up a position on one of the stools. Two other bots sat in a booth in the corner, cuddled up and exchanging soft coos of affection into each others’ audials, but she couldn’t remember their names at the moment. And honestly, just looking at them made her feel a little embarrassed, although all four pairs of hands were above the table.

“Lotty!” Swerve hadn’t even turned around from rinsing glasses out at the sink wedged beside the engex dispensers set in the wall. He set another clean glass on the drying rack next to him, rocking his wheels back and forth slowly in time to the whiny ballad on overhead. “What a sight for sore eyes! I thought it was going to be just me here for rom-com night!”

The last sentence was louder, and the two bots in the corner paused in their nuzzling long enough for the bigger one to shoot him a look. 

Lotty chuckled, swinging her legs around to rest her feet on the bar below the counter top, and let her chin fall into her hands. “Aw come on, you don’t have to tease them. I know for a fact that Cyclonus and Tailgate were doing the exact same thing almost ON TOP of the bar the night before last, and you didn’t say anything to them.”

“That’s because I still have a sense of self preservation, unlike everyone else around here.” He finished the last glass, set it down, then spun on his heel to face her. The little bot had stains in his knuckle joints from spilled engex, and he picked at one as he spoke. 

Velocity vented, fiddling with one of the happy hour menus stuffed behind the counter. “That’s a good joke. Last time I saw Cyclonus, he was getting teary eyed at some old human tragedy movie at Rewind’s on movie night. I don’t know what exactly he did before he came aboard, but I wouldn’t say hes exactly the kind to get irritated about that kind of thing.”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about Cyclonus, I meant Tailgate. He hates it when people make fun of his conjunx about that kind of stuff.” He made air quotes with one hand as he shuffled for a dry glass with the other. “Says it sets him back with his ‘expression issues.’ Figured the guy had gotten pretty good with the whole expression after he went and confessed his love out loud in front of the whole fragging crew but hey, I’m no Rung.”

“Hm...” 

He shrugged, then set the glass down and stood back to look at the different mixers under the bar. “Love the guy, don’t get me wrong. Seeing him before the war ended and seeing him now? Feels like we’re universe hopping all over again. So, whatcha feeling tonight? I just got some more of that Old Elbow Grease that you had last time you came in with the amica crew. You liked that, didn’t you?”

She shook her head, shoulders sagging a bit. “Oh, I didn’t come in for a drink. I just needed someone to complain to.”

Velocity couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him look so surprised - at least not one where they hadn’t been in life threatening danger. “And you came to me? Not that I wouldn’t listen to your beautiful dulcet whine all day and night, but most bots on board think I can’t keep a secret for ten million shanix.”

“Well, that’s what bartenders do, isn’t it?” She pulled her legs up to sit cross legged on the stool. “And it’s not like it’s about another bot on board. I’m just feeling...lonely, I guess.”

Swerve hung the glass above his head on one of the glass hooks. “Weird, considering that you’re usually surrounded by at least two bots after your aft and another after your medic hands.”

“Oh please...wait, 2?” Shaking her head, she folded her arms and hunched her shoulders. “I’m going to make sure to ask who that second one is, but first - how do you keep in contact with old friends?”

He laughed, then realized she wasn’t joking. “Oh, you were serious. Like serious about asking me, the obnoxious short mech.” He vented, hot air blasting from the heat vents of his chest and disturbing several of the napkins on the counter. “Well, it’s hard, especially during and after the war when no one knows whose dead and whose still going. It’s also hard because I wasn’t really top of the contacts list for most mechs. And when you’re spread across galaxies without a lot of free time outside of keeping all your screws in their sockets, well...

“After it’s all said and done, I still talk to a few of the people I lived with in Helex before everything went to scrap, but I wouldn’t really call us friends. More like pen pals.” He set a glass on the counter again, shuffling through the bottles. “Here, it’s on the house, you look like you need it, and refusing gifts is rude. But honestly, why ask me?”

She took the drink once he’d poured out the silver blue liquid - she must look really unhappy, because he’d almost filled it to the rim - and threw back a big swallow. It burned on the way down, and left static in her mouth that turned to sweetness after a moment. “You seem to know a lot of people. You always get shipments and stuff from all over the place, from all kinds of people. I figure you would know about this kind of stuff. I’m...still getting used to this interstellar space travel thing, and this doctor thing, and this always being in life threatening situations thing.”

Swerve nodded. “It can get a little overwhelming if you have down time to think about it. Figured it would eventually catch up with me after we won the day and the war and stuff, but hey lookit that! New quest to go on for distraction!” His smile turned genuine for a moment. “And you got friends from Caminus along for the ride! You got Nautica, and Anode and Lug!”

The drink burned going down the second time, and she was startled to realize that only two mouthfuls of the stuff had been enough to knock her vision a little sideways. Placing the glass gingerly on the counter, she said, “I know, but most of the mechs on the ship...I love you guys, but I guess I’m just a little homesick. By the time we left, Caminus wasn’t exactly a vacation spot, but I still grew up there. You know, I got an invite to a conjunx ceremony the other day from my friend Muffler? I didn’t even know she was dating, let alone contemplating joining.”

“Why don’t you just call her up? See what she’s up to?” He was back to picking at those stains again. She made a mental note take a look at those the next time he ended in the infirmary; long term exposure to even high grade engex could cause serious joint issues. 

“I could, and I probably will. But I wish it was easier to do that without having to, you know...be reminded.” Another swallow wouldn’t hurt. Well, it did a little, as it felt like fire in her tank, but that sweetness pricked her tongue again and the buzz in her sensors made her quickly forget. “I feel like a bad person because I can only talk to people who really mattered to me for a long a time when I’m basically TOLD that they still exist.”

“Hey, we’re all full formed mechs here. We all got lives.” Swerve took a drink himself from a glass of plain energon set on the edge of the sink. “You know, I knew a couple of branched sparks who went for almost two thousands years without talking. No real reason other than, and I quote, ‘Getting weird unexplained pains is normal for us, and we weren’t dead, so we had no reason to worry.’” 

“I guess...although I think Cybertronian relationship standards might be different than Camien standards. You guys didn’t have a planet until what? A couple years ago?” She took another sip, trying to pace herself. “I guess it comes with experience. You’re about a million years older than me, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “Give or take a thousand. Doesn’t help that you lose time traveling like this you start to lose track after about a thousand years. No star cycle overhead to help you keep track.”

“I think that’s more a chronometer issue.”

“Nah, you don’t get it.” Swerve clicked open the register and stated counting shanix. “On Cybertron, we had a sun. We had the morning gamma waves that’d shock you awake on stormy days. You never felt a bad storm till you came to Helex during our worst storm seasons. I knew a bot who was forged without a chronometer that could keep time by when and how bad it stormed. Don’t get that on a ship.”

“Oh, well Caminus has a sun too!” Her voice sounded muffled to her sensors, but she knew she’d just yelled. Lowering her voice a bit, she continued, “Not much of one by the time I left, but...I guess that’s just what happens to stars. We didn’t have seasons like Cybertron though; I don’t think Caminus was big enough.”

“It’ll probably be easier to adjust to it for you than it was for me, then.” His wheels spun as the music overhead reached crescendo, an obvious nervous habit. “I used to oversleep at last three days a week back on Kimia, since I didn’t get blasted awake by gamma storms.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m having that much trouble.” The floor frowned up at Velocity when she looked down, and it took her now obviously inebriated processor a moment to realize it was just the metal paneling and not an actual face. “Primus Swerve, what was this? It feels like I just got hit by Ultra Magnus going a million miles a minute.”

“Just some of that new bootleg stuff I ordered from Speedlimit’s a month ago. May be a billion years old, but the wonders she can do with a distillery...” He checked the bottle, then frowned. “May not have been the best thing for a lonely spark though. Especially since you put it away so quickly.” 

“Y’ distracted me by talking.” She could feel her equilibrium system start to short, and knew that walking back to her cabin was going to be less than dignified. “Wouldn’a drank it so fast. Mmm, think I need to go and recharge normally for a bit.” As she got up, her foot went to the side where she did not want it to go, and the only thing that prevented her from sprawling face first across the floor was the point of her waist kibble catching on the bar stool and hanging her there in a very undignified manner. 

Swerve barked a laugh, hurrying over to help remove the pointed end of her kibble from the seat. “As your friend, I’m sorry I ACCIDENTALLY did this. Since it is sort of my fault you’re totaled.” He leaned back as far as he could holding her hand, which only got her halfway to her feet. “But as the resident obnoxious mini-bot, I will say that it looks like you’re getting the ‘hang’ of this interstellar space travel thing.”

“If I wasn’ seein’ sideways right now, I’d tell Magnus on you.” She made it all the way vertical, but the loose swinging of her shoulder wheels threw off her balance again and she stumbled into the bar. He had to grab her arm and let her lean against his wheels to prevent her from toppling over again. “Frag it, I’m never takin’ drink offers from you again.”

“Lotty?” Both Velocity and Swerve turned to see Nautica in the doorway, glasses still on from whatever she had been reading last. She threaded between the stacked chairs and tables to reach them, passing the lovebug couple as they left still buried in each. “I wanted to ask you about something you learned in school...Are you drunk? First Aid said he’d seen you come this way, but you don’t usually drink alone.”

“It was my fault. Heavy handed on the strong stuff tonight.” He hoisted Lotty a bit higher against his shoulder. “Only trying to help the good doctor unwind. She seemed like she could use a break.”

Nautica frowned, reaching out so that Lotty could transfer her unsteady hands to the bot that was the same height as her. “She was supposed to be off rotation today, but First Aid said she took his shift instead. Almost kicked him out of the infirmary, apparently.”

“Jus’ needed to keep myself occu...busy.” Lotty was tracing her fingers over Nautica’s propellers, seemingly distracted from the conversation by their occasional flutter. “Plus, Aid has pulled three double shifts in th’ past two weeks. Y’ have to yell at him, too.”

Rolling her eyes, Nautica grabbed Lotty’s hand away from her kibble and held it softly. “I’m not yelling at you, sweetspark. I’m just worried about you. I’ll take her back to the cabin, Swerve. To be honest, this’ll probably be the first real recharge she’s had in weeks. And if Ratchet asks, don’t tell him I said that.”

He mock saluted as Nautica pulled Lotty away, the latter crooning sappy drunk nonsense into the former’s audial. “Don’t worry about me! Best secret keeper in the business!” 

As the two Camiens shuffled out the door and down the corridor, Swerve shut the door and locked it. The almost empty glass of moonshine was still on the counter, and he finished off the last bit, not bothering to deactivate his FIM chip. No point in drinking alone, but this stuff had a decent enough taste that it could go down on its own. His knee joints creaked as he leaned down to pick up an abandoned datapad off the floor, and when he stood all the way back up again he could feel something grate against rust inside one.

Wincing, he took a moment to rest against one of the bar stools. The lights had dimmed ages ago at the night cycle, so his optics glimmered a soft blue in the dark of the closed bar. Their glow illuminated the little insignia laser etched into the glass in his hand, which just read “Swerve’s.”

“Best secret keeper in the business.”


	2. Infestation

“I thought you said Rodimus made him get rid of it!” Even shouting, Nautica’s voice was barely audible over the deafening hum of scraplet teeth. “You share a lab, how didn’t you know he still had it?!”

Perceptor loaded another incendiary charge into his rifle and took aim. “I’m not his keeper. And while he is a very brilliant scientist, I have also seen the kind of labels he puts on some of his stuff, so I don’t go snooping.” He fired, and a plume of smoke and flame exploded in the waves of scraplets tearing at the makeshift barricades set up around the entrance of the lab that he and Brainstorm shared. 

“I don’t know why you wouldn’t.” Whirl swung a piece of scrap metal he’d salvaged from the torn sides of the corridor, spraying scraplets back beyond the barricade and towards the smoke crater Perceptor had made. “This is great! Sparkeating scraplets? Almost as good as that time Swerve had an existential crisis and we got to see his actual self esteem issues in person.” Another spray of scraplets, and he stomped down hard on several trying to worm their way past his feet. “A sparkeater gun was a GREAT idea. I only wish I’d found it sooner.”

They stood in a row behind the barricade, backs to the entrance of the lab, all three defending Velocity as she worked to staunch the energon flow of a very dizzy Anode. The blacksmith was stable, but her main fuel line was torn, and if Lotty didn’t manage to patch it, then it could cause some serious systems damage. She pulled a scalpel from her emergency kit and struggled to flick it on. Low battery. A few more tries and it stuttered to life. 

“Hey, aren’t you gonna numb it?” Anode pulled herself up from a prone position to balancing on her elbows. A vicious gash in her abdominal chassis revealed her inner mechanisms, but those were now mostly obscured by one of Velocity’s arms, as she was holding the wounded bot’s severed fuel line shut with one hand. “I mean, all cool with sewing up my outsides without any neural blockers but this is - FRAGGING PRIMUS, THAT STINGS.”

Velocity showed no sympathy as she welded the two ends of line back together, careful not to scorch her fingers. “You should have thought about that before you recruited Whirl to help you look for valuables in Stormy’s lab. We had just gotten everyone’s processors back in their proper chassis after LAST week, and you thought it was a good idea to go around playing with his stuff?”

Anode shrugged, her wings scraping against the floor. “Course not, but I don’t really do things based on whether they’re a good idea or not.” Hissing through her teeth, she shifted, trying to make it easier for Lotty to weld without tearing all her systems out. “You think I ended up in the Necrobot’s basement by being smart? Besides, it’s me and Lug’s anniversary next week, and I need the shanix to get my lovely lady something special.”

Her scrap eating grin slid quickly into a grimace as Lotty started welding the line back into place.

 

“Okay, we’ve seen a lot of stuff before, but I think this is the worst.” Swerve took aim at the over sized scraplet and squeezed the trigger, nodding in satisfaction as it exploded into a thousand shards of metal. He ducked back behind the table they had propped up against the bar, picking at his knuckle joints, and glanced over to where Brainstorm crouched. “Hey Raincloud, you got that scrap-trap set up yet? I think Ultra Magnus over there is getting tired.”

Magnus stood in the now shredded door of the bar, wielding a very large gun that Brainstorm had just called a “laser shower” and shoved into his hands. None of the three of them - Brainstorm, Swerve, or Lug - could see around him, but occasionally brilliant flashes of bright blue light threw his enormous silhouette across the tables. The whirring of scraplet teeth filled the barroom even if the majority of the wave remained on the other side of the Magnus barricade, and combined with the early morning dimmed lights of the bar and the swirling colors of the engex playing over the chrome surfaces, it all felt rather too much like a horror movie for any of their liking.

“Your snappy insults get worse when you’re nervous, Swerve.” Brainstorm didn’t look up from the cobbled together device in front of him, delicately teasing another wire into place. He held one wing cocked at an angle, a sign he was focused, then pulled a set of pliers out of some hidden cranny in his armor. “Even if we hadn’t been on Kimia together, Raincloud is a bad pretend-you-forgot-my-name name. Sounds like a reject seeker.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be perfect.”

Lug interrupted them both by standing up and shoving Swerve out of the way with her hip before firing off several shots over the counter. There was an outraged shriek, the sound of twisting metal, and the mini-bot dropped back behind the counter, hot air rushing in uneven bursts from her vents. “You people are worse than Anode. How is it that everyone I know gets chatty when they’re about to die?” Her hands shook slightly on her little peashooter, but her determined scowl could have rivaled Magnus’. 

“Oh, I’m chatty all the time, you know that.” Swerve offered her a cocky grin, which was betrayed for the twitchy way his tires were rocking back and forth. “’Side if we’re still talking, it means we’re not dead yet! Always a great thing. Specially if it involves Brainstorm’s cooking. Who knew inventing a gun that could turn not only people but also vicious metal eating parasites into soul sucking horror creatures would be a bad idea?”

Brainstorm waved his pliers at Swerve, using his other hand to ease a piece of circuitry into place. “Look, I put that thing in my discard bin, but that little sticky fingered airplane thought it was good idea to bring Whirl into the lab. Not my fault he happened to find it AND a sample of my old scraplet breeding project.”

“You’re supposed to triple lock the door when you’re not in there.”

“And your conjunx should keep her lockpicks in her pockets, but we are what we are.” Snipping a coil of frayed copper, he slammed the panel of the device closed and then squinted through the crack on its other side. “So in theory, this should target the scraplet’s collective signature and shut them all off at once, but unless I can get my hands on some viscous atonium, it’s going to short out the whole ship.”

 

Who is it? mouthed Nautica to Perceptor as she pulled a scraplet off of Whirl’s rotor, crushing it between her hands. 

Brainstorm, he replied silently, listening to the voice on the other end of his com, then he went wide eyed for a moment. “You want to know if you have what in your cabinet? Genitus, are you joking?” He let his grip slacken on his rifle, straightening up out of a kneeling position. “I’ve had thirteen different kinds of liquid fuel in this lab, do you know the reaction potential they have just being in the same vicinity?” His irate voice descended into hissed whispers through his comlink as he slowly rotated and walked back into the lab.

Nautica strafed another line through the oncoming ranks, then glanced over her shoulder. “Uh, Percy? I can appreciate that Stormy might want your help, but two of us aren’t going to cut it.”

“I gotcha!” Velocity almost materialized at her side with unexpected speed, then pulled the backup pistol out of the holster hidden under one Nautica’s propellers. “Gonna just borrow this.” Tucking herself in between the engineer and Whirl, she took several shots at a half dozen scraplets scrambling up the wall in bid to get over their barricade.

“What, did the pick pocket leak out already?” Whirl was having a great time, as one of Percy’s incendiary shots had lit his scrap metal on fire and he was delighting in spreading swathes of flame through the invaders ranks.

“She’ll be fine, just very sore and sporting a nasty weld-scar if she doesn’t get the whole plate replaced.” Lotty jabbed a thumb over her shoulder to where Anode was meekly sipping at a Krezmeek box the medic had pulled from Brainstorm’s Emergency Lab Snack Fridge (he said the capitalization was crucial to the title.) “Let’s just hope Stormy knows what he’s doing.”

 

“One of us has to what?” Swerve clutched at the handle of his gun, staring at Brainstorm as he started threading wires through the spark cloaking device he’d pulled out of yet another hidden compartment.

“One of us has to drive the sparkeater bomb up to my lab so Perceptor can add that last little bit which will prevent it from just shorting out the ship and our sparks along with the scraplets. And I specifically recall saying it had to be you, Swerve. Not just one of us.” Clipping his faceplate off, the weapons designer snipped the wire delicately with his denta, then stowed the extra away. “This thing was supposed to be for spare wire originally, so right now it can only really hold a two cyle charge, and you’re the only one small enough that can get to the lab in enough time. This field wont fit over Ultra Magnus or me, and Lug doesn’t have a mobile alt mode.”

She shrugged, not bothering to crouch down now between the waves that were getting past a quickly tiring Magnus. “That’s what I have a conjunx for. She’s fast enough for both of us.”

Swerve made a gagging motion as Brainstorm clipped the cloaker around his wrist. “That’s great, just excellent awesome great. You know, even in alt-mode I’m not that fast. Actually, I’m almost faster running than I am driving. I’m sure there’s someone better.”

He hummed as he made final adjustments to the cloaker. “Oh, there are much faster bots, but all of them are not here and not small enough.” He placed a hand on Swerve’s shoulder kibble in what should have been a comforting manner, but it was very clear he was not used to being bare faced, because his smile was distinctly sinister. “Besides, if we all stay in here we die anyway. So it doesn’t really matter if there’s someone better, because they are inherently NOT better because they are elsewhere. Now transform, I’m going to set a ten klik timer so the cloaker turns on as you hit the door, okay?”

 

Velocity shivered as she scraped dead scraplet off her leg, grimacing at the little bite marks they’d left in her paint job. “You know,” she called, as Nautica took several shots next to her, “We could always barricade the door.”

“You saw what they did to the walls.” Lotty almost jumped out of her kibble as Perceptor appeared behind her, carrying a very tightly locked box. “And that was before Whirl shot them with the sparkeater gun. They’d just chew threw the metal and then we wouldn’t have a good position to defend.” He began flicking a set of colored switches underneath a keyed lock on the box. “Brainstorm has sent the sparkeater killer on up with Swerve, so we just need to hold on until he gets here.”

“Swerve?” Whirl was now on the other side of the barricade, stomping scraplets underneath and shredding those that flung themselves from the walls in his twirling rotors. Her glanced over his shoulder, and his one yellow optic somehow conveyed what he thought of that. “Not exactly a speed demon.” 

“He’ll get it to us,” Lotty flicked a scraplet off her foot, then stomped on several of its companions that were creeping around a seam in the barricade. “Properly motivated, he can book it.”

 

Swerve clipped the third corner in thirty kliks and felt his back end bounce out and into a swarm of scraplets. The cloaker shield threw up a wave of the little creatures against the wall, and he felt the rubber of his tires shred against the floor as he shot up the emergency ramp to the next floor. The timer for the shield battery blinked in his vision, counting down now to about a cycle and ten kliks to get to the lab, but he tried not to focus on it.

“Come on, you’re already at the ramps, it doesn’t take that long from here.” 

His muttering wasn’t audible over the strained snarl of his engine, and it howled even louder as he took the switchback of the ramp going a little too fast. The ramp was largely free of the infestation that had plagued the lower corridor, but he still managed to crush a few of the things as his rear bumper hit the wall. Ooh, that was gonna dent. The collision had knocked something loose, and even as he barely skirted the next corner, he felt something grind in his undercarriage. 

Hopefully, it wasn’t a loose scraplet that had somehow gotten past Brainstorm’s shield, but he didn’t have time to stop and check. The counter was down to 45 kliks, and he could feel his axles creak as he hit the last ramp up to the next floor. Hmm, he was going to have to take a voluntary trip to the medbay after this; he was really more of a Bumblebee than a Blurr, and pushing a body he already didn’t take great care of past its limits was how he’d gotten in the last major medical emergency.

And oh man, there were SO many scraplets over the exit to the floor. The one he needed to drive through.

 

Whirl grabbed Nautica by the propellers and jerked her out of a knee deep swarm she’d been standing in, swiping most of it away with his now only smoldering weapon.   
“Watch yourself, wrench jockey. Don’t go swimming in the deep end if you can’t touch.”

She shot a look over shoulder at Velocity as her feet touched down, and the medic shrugged. “Probably an Earth thing. He’s been poaching Earth media off of Swerve.”

“What can I say? Humans know how to write some compelling horror.” He was nudging a swarm of the scraplets away from Percy as the latter carefully extracted something glowing from Brainstorm’s puzzle box. “I’m usually more into the gory stuff, but psychological thriller is good too. Still trying for figure out whether it’s the George character or the human Jerry who’s the villain, but Seinfeld is my favorite one.”

“Wait, something’s coming around the corner!” Nautica squinted down the hallway. “No, just a klik, I think it’s more scraplets. Wait, no! It’s Swerve!”

 

This was literally the worst thing that had ever happened to him, and Swerve had fought in a four million year long war. 

He tore around the final corner almost blind, his view blocked by the sparkeating scraplets that were crawling all over the outside of the almost dead cloaking shield. This close, he could see their too-many legs and whirring mouths, some of which gleamed with glowing stains of energon, and the combined clicking of their bodies sent a shiver up his spinal strut that made his plating separate. Thanks to the shield, they weren’t truly aware of his presence outside of being a comfortable perch, but the counter in his vision told him he had maybe 20 kliks of that.

Shhhh-RUNCH. He had always figured his name to be pretty tongue in cheek, but swerve he did, right into the wall about a hundred feet from the entrance to the lab as something in his rear axle bent and tore in the same moment. The collision threw most of the scraplet monstrosities from his shield, and he transformed, hissing through his denta at the jab of pain in his leg.

It was the fragging knee joint. Most of the cabling was shredded, usesless, and the pin in the joint itself was bent at almost a full right angle. Rust flakes billowed from it whenever it shifted, and he could see hints of engex stains at the edges. It wouldn’t support his weight walking, let alone busting aft in alt mode the last a hundred feet, and definitely not in the next 15 kliks. 

His processor quickly jumped through several solutions, and he grimaced as it landed on the one he most definitely liked the least.

Pulling the sparkeater bomb from his chassis, he squinted down the hall, estimating the distance. “Well, I’d never make a Cube player...Hey! Whirl! Catch!”

 

Whirl’s right claw snagged the sparkeater killer out of the air just as the little translucent dome around Swerve flickered out. At first it seemed that the swarm would ignore him, milling around in the same patterns as before, but as Nautica and Velocity watched in horror, the first few caught his spark scent, and then he was gone, hidden under an undulating mass of tiny bodies.

“Swerve!” Lotty took aim with her pistol and fired several well aimed shots into the swarm where he had been, and Nautica followed suit, but neither of them had much effect given the sheer volume of the creatures. They just kept coming, as though sprouting from the ground itself. 

Percy had the sparkeater bomb in hand, maneuvering whatever substance he had dug out of Brainstorm’s side of the lab into place on a side panel. Whirl was watching with great interest, but at her shout, his head whipped around and his single optic narrowed on where Swerve had been like a laser sight.

“Keep shooting.” His usually loud demeanor was suddenly soft, his voice like a jolt of electricity despite its hushed tone. Wading into the scraplets, he flicked his rotors on, cutting a path through the vicious swarm, crushing some underfoot and tearing others to pieces in his whirling blades. 

“It’s ready!” Nautica glanced over her shoulder where Percy was clipping the bomb shut. “Everyone cover your audial sensors!”

She frowned. “Cover our...? Why would - ?” 

His hand slammed against the button on the side and suddenly all she could hear was a shrill white noise loud enough to send her optic sensors offline for a couple kliks. Recovering was slow, and when she could see again, she was on the floor on her knees, balancing against her palms with her tanks bubbling like pools of molten lava. Velocity sat next to her, the light in one of her optics still flickering on and off in a reboot cycle. Percy was behind them both, and though her ears still rang, Nautica thought she could hear anode moaning.

A stabilizer set itself down in front of her spinning vision, and Nautica managed to drag her upward to see Whirl in front of her, a small red and white chassis in his folded arms. Whatever had turned the sparkeater scraplets into the thousands of tiny corpses around them had seemingly not affected the copter, and he set Swerve gently down on the floor, single usually expressive optic unreadable. “That felt like waking up from a hangover three days after you get totaled.” His voice was devoid of both the soft danger and his bubbly negativity, and she could see why.

“Oh, Swerve...” Lotty’s optics, one now completely off, went straight to the gaping hole in Swerve’s chest. Most of his mechanisms were untouched unless they were in the path of the perfectly circular wound, which lead straight to his spark. The blue light was barely an ember in its rent casing, and even as they got the first look at it, its light winked out completely.

And the ship jolted all sideways, interrupting the wave of sorrow washing over them. All five of them went crashing into the far side of the lab, Anode yelping as Whirl’s pointed helm slammed directly into her welded injury. The ground - or wall as it had been seconds before - vibrated below them, and for once, in a ship supposedly equipped with some very expensive gyroscopics, they could feel themselves move through space.

“...tica!” Rodimus’ loud, ventless voice echoed over the collective ship comlink in their audials. “Nautica, Velocity, I need you two up in the medbay immediately! The Lost Light is transforming!”

Velocity, still in shock from grief and the weight of both Perceptor and Nautica, failed to answer, so Nautica tapped into the frequency. “What do you mean it’s transforming? What did the scraplets do? I thought the infestation had been quarantined!”

He sounded giddy when he answered. “It wasn’t the scraplets, Nautica! The Lost Light is transforming! The whole ship is a titan, and something woke it up!”


	3. Hidden Spark

Rodimus had his back to the door when Nautica finally plodded into the medbay, fingers caked in oil residue and crude energon. The past 6 megacycles had been taxing, hectic running up and down corridors trying to figure out directions in a ship stuck halfway between alt-mode and robot mode, then setting up gravity generators in some of the more important parts of the living areas: the medbay first, the fuel suite, one that worked in maybe half the habsuites. Flight moded bots had been overhead, rescuing stranded crewmates from crevices and cliffs that had originally been comfortably situated on the floor. 

“Ratchet, I thought you were keeping these supply records up to date.” The captain’s voice, tinged with the tone he only took when he had to deal with paperwork, ground against her already sore processor, and she vented heavily. An open stool was propped against an empty recharge slab, and she fell onto it, tucking fingers into her knee joints to untangle some crossed cabling. He set down the datapad he was reading and picked up another off the recharge slab that was acting as a desk, which was littered with paperwork, then turned towards the other side of the room where Ratchet worked.

“I know what we need and what we don’t.” The ex-chief medical officer was hunched in front of a minibot missing her cranial casing with a scalpel and making minute adjustments to her optics. “Besides, like I told you, ever since that software crash three weeks ago, we haven’t been able to get the supply program to record medical information for more than two days, so I stopped bothering.”

“Did you tell me that? I don’t remember you telling me that. When did you tell me that?” Rodimus turned finally so that Nautica could see his face, and she choked off a startled giggle. He must have heard her, because he looked down at her, very obviously in a less than pleasant mood from the irregular rumble deep in his engine. “What? Did I say something?”

She shook her head, tapping her face to mirror the place where he had a pair of corrective lenses perched on his nose. “No, I was just...surprised. I didn’t realize you need lenses.”

Before he could reply, First Aid ducked out of on of the private side suites and answered for him, still reading the datapad in his hand. “He typically doesn’t, but Brainstorm decided using a sensory bomb to kill the scraplets was the best idea, and a lot of bots are down working optics right now, so he’s going to have to make do until we can get the supplies we need to replace his damaged parts.”

Velocity, in the furthest back corner tuning another bot’s audials, piped up before Nautica could ask another question. “He’s an outlier, Nauts. Him and a couple other bots are going to need specially treated parts before we can fix some of the more delicate mechanisms in their sensory systems.” 

“Doesn’t help he burnt out his last set of optics staring at that slagging matrix map he carved on his desk,” grumbled Ratchet as he started bolting the bot’s case back into place. “We HAD a full set of replacements, but now we don’t because half the mechs on this ship don’t practice proper preventative maintenance.”

Frowning, Rodimus tossed his datapad back onto the recharge slab. “Whatever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality? All three of you just broke it in the span of ten kliks, you know.”

“We’ll make an exception, Captain-Who-Won’t-Take-Care-Of-His-Eyes,” First Aid passed Nautica and handed him the datapad. “This is all we have on titans.”

He took the datapad and squinted down at it, scrolling through the text. “This reads like religious scripture. What was it doing in your medical references?”

First Aid shrugged, hood kibble on his shoulders twitching in irritation. “It wasn’t in our medical texts, it’s from my personal library. We don’t know anything about titans, Rodimus. Hell, we thought they were extinct for several pretty long stretches throughout history, and even before that, their internals were considered religious lore and kept pretty close to the Primacy’s chest.”

“How do we even know this is a titan? Metroplex and the metrotitans are all easily three times the size of this ship.” Finishing with the last bolt, Ratchet helped the little bot off the recharge slab. “Keep out of bright light with those for the next few solar cycles and until the neural block wears off, don’t take any fuel stronger than plain filtered energon. And I want you back in here after about three recharges; I need to make sure that the new connections hold.”

Nautica pulled her legs back so the little bot could exit, then shook her head. “Based on how we didn’t know it was a titan? I’d definitely say it is.”

“What does that have to do with it?” It was Velocity, finally looking up from the offline bot’s audials. Her voice carried the characteristic flat affect of mood suppressants, and Nautica bit back a sour comment. She was going to have a conversation with her friend later. The other three looked at her expectantly, and she hummed in thought. 

Adjusting her position on the stool so her propellers weren’t pulling her backward, she counted off on her fingers. “Okay, so I took about...three classes back in school about titans, but I also spent a while with Windblade inside Metroplex. We all know that. Technically, a lot of the stuff she told me is supposed to be Cityspeaker exclusive, though, and she could get in a lot of trouble if it got out, so we should really probably keep this in as small a group as we can.”

Striding to the door, Rodimus shut and locked it, coding the lock pad to his own signature. Turning back, he looked at her through those red tinted lenses - the color usually used for bots who were vitreous-positive. “Floor’s all yours.”

“Titans are...special. Like besides the obvious size and everything.” Tucking a knee under her chin, Nautica balanced a stabilizer on the edge of the stool. “We can argue functionalism all day and night, but in the end all titans are one of several specific types. Most people only know about metrotitans, because those are the ones that stay planet side and work with the everyday populace and stuff. They’re also apparently the ones that have survived the longest, because the Lost Light is the first titan I’ve personally heard of that wasn’t a metrotitan in this day and age.”

“You guys have been inside a metrotitan, you know how confusing it can be.” She glanced over at Velocity, and though the medic offered a supportive smile, Nautica still felt like she was back in dance class, forgetting steps. She hated being unsure of her own knowledge. “That was one of the ways metrotitans would protect their inhabitants from attackers, because Primus knows Cybertronians have been unpopular in most corners of space for a long time. Metrotitans have a lot of other defenses though, because their main “purpose,” for lack of a better term, is to provide for and protect their populace.

“I think the Lost Light is probably an exploratory titan of some sort.” Leaning forward, Nautica snagged a datapad showing the ship’s map off of Rodimus’ makeshift desk. “I noticed you guys added those proton missile launchers afterwards, but looking at the primary blueprints, the ship doesn’t have a lot of offensive systems. Sure, it’s got shields and defenses, but compared to some of the tech that even the most basic Autobot ships I studied in school had, it’s a lightweight.”

“I don’t get what this has to do with the processor chamber.” She looked up from the blueprints to where Ratchet was wiping the singe marks off his hands. He tossed the rag onto the counter and shoved his thumbs through his waist plates. “Don’t get me wrong, fascinating stuff, but it doesn’t really fix our current problem, which is that we are stuck floating through space in a half transformed titan without operational engines, and no way to talk to it.”

“No, I think I get it.” First Aid leaned over her shoulder, his shoulder kibble nudging one of her propellers to the side. “If we’re assuming that titans were built, and not forged, then a titan built for a non-offensive purpose would need alternative methods of defense, especially of their vital systems.”

She nodded, holding the map out so he could get a better look at it. “Windblade said that in a lot of titans, if they’re in their alt mode, you won’t be able to tell what they really are. Spark chambers are tucked in rooms with no doors, brain modules disguised by less significant systems, energy signatures hidden by shielding we couldn’t even begin to replicate.”

Rodimus vented, tucking his thumb and forefinger up under the lenses to rub the bridge of his nose. “So what you’re saying is, our ship is a titan, it’s a titan that is damaged, and we won’t even know where or how until we go on a scavenger hunt to find its processor.” He settled on his makeshift desk and scrubbed both palms over his face. “You know, I was a lot more excited when I thought this thing was going to be able to fly itself and dispense wisdom of the ages.”

Ratchet snorted. “Well, think of the bright side. At least if we get out of this one, you can rub it in everyone’s faces back on Cybertron. Now get your stuff off that recharge slab, this is a medbay, NOT an officer’s cabin.”

 

The datapad shattered as she dropped it to the floor, sending shards of screen into every single corner of the habsuite, and getting a whispered swear out of her. Velocity crouched down and gingerly pulled the datapad out of the glass, mentally scolding herself for being so clumsy. That was an antique as well; she could save the text, but the hardware itself had been given to her by a professor at the Lighthouse.

“We have cleaning drones for a reason, Lotty.” She hadn’t heard the door slide open, but Nautica was there on the threshold, leaning against the frame. Her helm was cocked at an angle, arms crossed, one ankle over the other. Now that Lotty wasn’t wrist deep in another bot’s audial sensor, she noticed the grease smears and scratches marking her friends purple paint, obvious signs of the heavy lifting and machine work she had been doing earlier. The safety visor dangling around her neck drew Lotty’s attention to the delicate cabling there, and the single bright silver colored cable that had replaced one that had worn out last year.

She looked away, back at the glass in her hands. “I wanted to save the glass; it’s from the datapad that Professor Alacrity gave me for my third year graduation. The drones will just toss it out.” Her audials caught the dead tone to her voice, and she wanted to catch her words and stuff them back down into her vocalizer, but they were already spoken.

Nautica’s face remained surprisingly unmoved; Velocity had expected irritation and anger, but the purple mech just moved to her side and knelt next to her, pulling an empty screw tray off her own slabside table and cupping a hand into the glass shards. “We can save the screen glass in here. I don’t think this screen can be fixed, but someone will pay good money for Old Camien glass, and you could probably use that to get a new screen sheet.” Closer up, Lotty could see a smear of energon right under her left optic, something that made her spark warm in her chest even under the insulating shell of the mood suppressant. 

“Ultra Magnus was in the medbay before you came back. He said Swerve’s memorial would have to wait until after we left the quadrant.” She spoke like an automaton, like a little toy for sparklings with three prerecorded phrases and optics that couldn’t shutter. Nautica looked up from the glass shards in surprise, single antenna flicking backwards, then opened her mouth to speak, but Lotty cut her off. “The native sapient species holds outer space as sacred, and jettisoning anything not specifically blessed and approved by their religious leaders is considered an offense punishable by death, even if the offender is of a foreign species. He says he wants to avoid an interstellar incident.”

Oh, that sounded like a direct quote from the fragging Tyrest Accord. 

Venting through her chassis ports, the medic rocked back on her stabilizers and stood, abandoning the mess on the floor and pacing over to the shelf where she’d retrieved the first datapad. Several more were shoved haphazardly on the shelf, none as nice as the broken one, and grabbed all of them, then fanned them out over her recharge slab, several sliding onto the window ledge or her slabside table. Her hands scrambled through them, and she flung any not titled with something useful sounding to the ground next to her. None of them were ancient enough to shatter like the first, but they did crunch in the glass pebbles on the ground.

Nautica jumped to her stabilizers, darting over and grabbing Velocity’s arm. “Lotty! Slow down. Oh geez, your hands are shaking really badly.” She held the medic’s hand in her own two, feeling the larger palm rattle against her own.

“Just a side affect of the mood suppressant. I still have things I need to get done before we go looking for the Lost Light’s brain chamber.”

That brightened the light in the purple mech’s optics. “You’re coming too? I thought it was going to be just me, Chromedome, Rewind, and First Aid.” Then the first part clicked in her processor, and Nautica frowned, holding Velocity’s hand tighter and pulling her off her knees and into standing position. “Are you sure you’re okay to go? Don’t get me wrong, we could definitely use you, but I don’t want you to come if you aren’t feeling up to it.”

A dull throb was creeping into the space just behind her optics, and pulled her hand away, rubbing it in the crevice just behind her frontal helm crest to try and alleviate some of the pressure. “I’ll be fine, Nautica. It’s just been...a long couple of solar cycles. Of course I’m upset, but there’s a lot of work that needs to be done.”

“There are other people on this ship, you know.”

“Not many of them are medics, though.” The mood suppressants were wearing off; Velocity could feel the manic energy of grief breaking though the static, and she started sorting through the datapads again to siphon it off, albeit slowly. “And I wasn’t Swerve’s only friend, there are other people who need comforting a lot more than I do.”

“Yeah, but I don’t care about them, I care about you.” She paused at the soft tone in her amica’s voice. “You remember the stupid slag I pulled with Skids? Tried to sneak some lying Carthasian on board to use a knock off artifact of the Knights to do that partial spark transplant? It nearly killed us both, and he’s still stuck in stasis.”

Lotty snapped back, finally unable to contain her growing sense of general unhappiness. “I’m a trained medic, Nautica. If I think something’s wrong with me, I can take care of myself, and I’m not going to try anything.” She regretted it even as the words left her mouth.

Silence reigned in their shared habsuite for a moment, then Velocity heard the soft clink of Nautica’s slabside table as the engineer opened it. A moment later it closed, and her footsteps clicked towards the door, then paused.

“Just let me know when you want to talk.” The door shut, and Lotty was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey none of this is edited at all so just have at it


	4. Blackouts and Phone Calls

“And then I told him to go jump out an airlock.” Rewind kicked a leg out and let it fall back against Chromedome’s chassis in emphasis, fingers playing out an irritated rhythm on the bigger mech’s audial crest. “It’s all his fault that Brainstorm’s mutant dividing scraplets got out anyway, why does he think he can make jokes about it? Swerve was my friend!”

Chromedome rested the side of his helm against his conjunx’ knee, kicking his engine on so that the gentle vibrations growled up his spinal struts and into Rewind’s joints. “I know, spark light, but I think that’s just how Whirl mourns. Not that it’s right, but I also walked past his habsuite on the way here and saw him pulling apart all his red clocks, so take that as you will.”

“Hm...” The two waited outside the entrance to the brig wing, the shorter seated atop the taller’s shoulders, for the last two members of their little explorer’s party. First Aid had arrived several cycles ago, but he was in the corner by the elevator having a hushed argument over commlink with someone who was probably Ratchet. 

The fact that Chromedome and Rewind could hear the medic at all was a glaring indicator of the status of the engines - silent and off. Down in the brig wing, which wasn’t often used, the engines usually drowned out most conversations below shouting volume, and left anyone who stayed there for more than a few cycles with serious audial lag. Now the dark doorless entrance and the faint shadows of barred doors within seemed almost sinister, and the creaking of aged metal floors gave birth to data ghosts in their audial sensors.

“We’re only waiting on Nautica and Velocity now.” First Aid had apparently won his argument, because he was relatively cheerful as he came over. “Then we can go. I want to start near the heavy duty cells, since we’ve had the least movement back there.”

Rewind propped his chin on Chromedome’s helm. “I still think searching the brig wing because it’s the least trafficked is kind of backwards. I have three separate vids of a metrotitan transforming, and the deconfiguration of all their parts is ridiculously complicated. The processor chamber could be under my recharge slab and I wouldn’t know the difference.”

“Yeah, but the bigger the bot, the closer the processor ends up to their engine in their alt mode.”

Chromedome turned around, glancing into the yawning entrance to the brig. “I thought the size-proximity ratio was disproved by Secondhand practically before Simanzi.”

“As a rule maybe, but it still works as a tendency.” The three turned to the elevator where Velocity stepped out of the opening door, and Rewind noted the silvered Autobot badge at her waist. “And we don’t have any other clues at this point, so the medic team is just working with what little we have. I was honestly surprised when Rodimus handed it over to us, instead of Percy.”

“Titans are still Cybertronians, Lotty.” Nautica poked her head around the entrance of the cell hall, almost scaring First Aid into alt mode. His kibble twitched around his head, and he put a hand to his spark chamber before giving her what was probably an offended look through his visor, but she ignored him. “I can fix its engines or run diagnostics on its life support system, but I wouldn’t know how to repair processor wiring or jump start a spark.”

Lotty just “Hmm...”-ed in response as Nautica disappeared back around the corner. 

Chromedome followed the submersible, bringing his little conjunx with him. “Did you already find something? We hadn’t even realized you were down here.” 

“No,” her voice echoed in a way that suggested she was farther off down the corridor. “I...got restless, so I came down to see what the terrain was like. I’m surprised the elevator is still operating - I walked in case it spit me out into space.” She was quiet for a second, and then something clanged and crashed and she swore. “Did you know we don’t have working backup lights down here? I do!”

“Now I do,” snickered Chromedome, and the other four entered the hallway. 

Nautica stood about three cells down in front of a control panel, fishing through its inner mechanisms, wrench clutched tight in her denta. The panel’s guts sparked at her and she jumped back, then kicked the thing and tugged a fat cord out of the panel, plugging it into another port inside. Lights flickered overhead for a moment, then shutoff completely, plunging them all into pitch black, save for the soft glow of their optics.

“Well,” came First Aid’s voice in the darkness. “That’s probably not going to change any time soon, so go ahead and leave it alone for right now and come here.” Suddenly his face appeared, lighted by a holo-screen he had produced. The screen displayed a folder of image files, and he swiped through them as the others gathered close until a particular one popped up, which he selected. “So we’re looking for the titan’s lockdown teeth, because that will indicate that what you’re looking at is a seam, and a seam with lockdown teeth means its protecting vital systems that can’t be exposed during transformation.”

On the screen, a diagram of a generic piece of kibble displayed, and First Aid pointed at the zig zag of teeth along its edge. “They’re going to look like this, since this is a titan and it has a space worthy alt mode. You all are going to have to search along the corners and edges of the floors and walls in here by hand, since it’ll have spark signature shields on the door. I’ve already divided up this floor into search sectors so we don’t go over something twice, and made a diagram file to look at if you need to see where you’re searching.”

He named out the areas they were each to search, and then they separated, headlights flickering on to light the way. Lotty headed all the way to the end of the hallway where the heavy duty cells, past the storage room and into the end cell. Her vents puffed short bursts of exhaust into the air, but she flicked off her cooling systems; with most of the power off in the ship, it wasn’t heating the lower levels, and her engine was already a little colder than she would have liked. Pausing, she pulled up the image of the lockdown teeth on her HUD, laughing to herself at the little notes First Aid had painstakingly scribbled in the margins of the diagram, then turned her attention to the blank wall.

This was going to take a while.

 

“-So I’m not sure why Brainstorm gave you my number.”

“You know, at this point, I’m not entirely sure we he did either. It wasn’t particularly useful.”

The bot on the other end of the vidcom link scowled, crossing his arms across an orange chassis. “Look, I’m a technobiologist and medic, not a mythologist. If you want a titan expert, ask a city speaker.”

Rodimus sighed, slumping backwards in his chair and pulling the lenses off his face to rub at the bridge of his nose. The fragging things didn’t quite fit his face, so they left tiny irritating scratches in his paint job. “I’m honestly trying to avoid that as long as I can. I wouldn’t have called you if I could help it, you know. You’ve got your own reputation among the Autobots, Flame, and that’s coming from the guy who meteor surfs for fun.”

The captain’s office was unusually silent, no obnoxiously loud music blasting over the speakers or trouble makers hurling accusations at each other in front of his desk. He’d closed and locked the door some time ago, but most of the rest of the crew was deep in recharge; the usual duties were put on hold while they were becalmed by their own ship. 

Except, of course, for the captain. The speedster had grabbed Brainstorm by one of the wings earlier as he’d been helping Rung down from an overhang created by the half transformed ship and demanded a list of the weapons engineer’s contacts. Of course, it took more than a little asking to get a list of numbers that connected to Decepticons, criminals, and illegal dealers, but he had his ways - as well as a very embarrassing set of photos of Brainstorm at Swerve’s after a rowdy evening.

That’s how he’d ended up in a series of vid calls with some very shady characters. Flame, an infamous figure on a good day, vented hard enough to disturb some of the pens on his desk. “Well, you’re looking at a short list of options. Last guy I talked to who knew anything about titans who wasn’t Camien got eaten by super-sized scraplets at the end of the war, and he was historian, not a scientist. I can send you a couple file dumps from him, but they’re mostly religious gibberish and conspiracy theories.”

“Mmm...” Listening with one audial, Rodimus checked the list of contacts in his HUD. Flame was at the bottom, ahead of only one name, and he’d still had no luck. “Alright, well, thanks for the disappointment, I guess. To be honest I wasn’t expecting much, but I was still hoping. Maybe I’ll have more luck with the next guy.”

The mech on the other end of the call was already mostly refocused on whatever work he’d been doing before the call. “Yeah, yeah. Oh, before I forget, if Scorponok is on that list of yours, I’d just skip him. He specializes in organics, so you’re more likely to get a human biology lesson than anything helpful. That, and he’s in the middle of some big project, so getting calls from strangers while he’s trying to work is just going to put him in a bad mood. I don’t feel like dealing with a crabby conjunx while I’m in the middle of a project commission, yeah?”

Oooh, the big scary Flame was subtly threatening him! Rodimus rolled his optics, then checked the HUD again. Scrap. The last name WAS Scorponok. Engine revving in irritation, the speedster waved a hand dismissively at Flame. “Alright, whatever. Tell crabby claws I’ll leave him alone. If you hear anything, just call Brainstorm.”

He hung up without saying goodbye, which he doubted offended the other bot too much. Rodimus had enough on his mind without having to worry about the feelings of Flame the infamous.

Running the list one more time through his HUD, he crossed the last two names off the list before shunting it backwards in his priority list to organize later. In all honesty, he hadn’t expected the list to yield any real results, but the little part of him that always held onto unreasonable hope had still made him page through it anyway. It was the same part that recoiled at the option he had saved for last.

He was going to have to call Cybertron.

The soft staccato knock on his door pushed the thought to the back of his processor for the moment, and Rodimus unlocked and let the door slide open from his desk console. Minimus Ambus strode across the threshold with a datapad in his hand and one arm tucked against his spinal strut in a very stiff posture. Stopping in front of the desk, he looked up from the datapad and at the captain. “We’ve got a full headcount on the ship, Rodimus. Everyone’s here, but most of the crew have had to temporarily move habsuites, and both Whirl and Anode have been put on temporary lockdown as punishment for unleashing the infestation.”

“Full headcount and one death.” Minimus’ optic ridge ticked upwards at his captain’s voice, and Rodimus pushed himself away from his desk, letting the wheeled office chair collide gently with the back wall. “Did Swerve have last wishes? I know most of the crew drew one up after the quantum crash, but we’ve got some of his final affairs to tidy up.”

“Swerve of Helex.” Minimus’ voice was flat as he read from his HUD rather than his datapad, but Rodimus had known the mech long enough to recognize the sadness in the way he crooked his mouth or how his fingers twitched against his leg. “Autobot, estimated forge age about four and a half million years. Certified metallurgist, licensed to distribute and serve inhibitory fuel types, no known conjunx or amica bonds officially registered, and no last wishes notarized. Self registered as a practicing Helexian Ia-Primalist.”

His attention remained in the middle distance on his HUD for a moment, and Rodimus remained silent. Then his optics dilated, and his gaze landed on the captain once again. “I don’t like having to mourn friends, Rodimus, but until we move from Pethrelic space, we can’t hold a proper Ia-Primalist ceremony.” Minimus sat down in the chair across from the desk and clasped his hands between his knees, a posture that immediately put the captain on his guard.

“I understand that,” he replied slowly, hoping to sail the conversation into less uneasy waters. Rodimus called that sitting position the “Magnus Maneuver,” and although it came across much more intimidating when he was almost twice the speedster’s height, Minimus didn’t have to be enormous to tell Rodimus something he want to didn’t hear. “As soon as we get the Lost Light back online...”

The look on his second-in-command’s face told him that Minimus knew he was dodging. “Rodimus, you and I both know that the only real way to fix the Lost Light is to contact the city speakers. They’ll know how to optimally repair whatever has gone wrong in our wayward titan, as well as give us a way to communicate with it. I thought you were excited about the idea of traveling aboard a mythical titan.”

Frag. Despite his outside stiffness, the former Enforcer really knew how to twist his servos just so. “It’s not the city speakers I have an issue with, it’s who I’ll have to go through to get to them.”

His mouth twisted like he’d just downed a shot of soured energon, and he stood so that the anxious energy pulsing in his systems could vent itself as he paced behind the desk. “You do realize that even though he’s not leader of the Council of Worlds anymore, Starscream IS still the Face Councilor, right? That having an entire unit of city speakers dispatched is definitely going to have to go through the Council, which will take forever and a cycle? And when they hear that Cyberutopia is some euthanasia clinic from a billion years ago, you know they’re going to try and commandeer this ship for some stupid ‘greater good’ reason.” Smoke wafted gently from his pipes, accompanied by irregular revs of his engine as though to punctuate each sentence.

Minimus grimaced at the exhaust starting to build up in the cabin, and his vents flared wide to keep the smog from clogging in his systems. “They’re doing the best they can do, Rodimus. Maintaining a government, especially one its infant stages, takes a lot of mechpower and organization, so things may be slow for a bit and inefficient. We’ll just have to work within the boundaries of procedure. They’re trying their best with a war torn population and no foundation.”

The look Rodimus gave the mini-bot was almost poisonous. “Minimus, my name is Rodimus of Nyon, and you know that. Don’t throw establishment defenses at me.”

Minimus hesitated, then vented, blowing exhaust away in a little localized storm. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry. But still,” he shifted, reaching over the desk so he could turn the cabin air filtering system to high. “We don’t have much choice at the moment. Titans aren’t just fancy ships or big Cybertronians. If we go tinkering around in its life support internals, we could cause more damage than we fix. And even if the whole Council is made up of Starscreams, do you really think the crew would let them confiscate their home? Do you think your friends on Cybertron would let them do that?”

His engine idling until the rumbling was a high pitched whine, Rodimus fell back into his chair, suddenly exhausted. “No, I don’t. But the idea that they could doesn’t make it easier to recharge. I’m just cranky because we’ve been stuck in a rut since Mederi, and once we finish cleaning up the leftover damage that stupid kill center did to the surrounding planets, I’m not sure what I’m going to tell the crew.” The slow throb in the back of his optics and front of his process was growing again, and he took the lenses off his desk and set them back on his nose.

“I think that’s a problem best addressed after we resolve the current situation.”

Rodimus was about to agree before a notification popped up on his HUD, alerting him of a call. Turning aside, he open the commlink. “First Aid? Please say you have good news...Good! So you found it?...So what's the bad news?”


	5. Choir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is long and unedited, mostly because i had to push through it so i can get to my favorite parts

First Aid hadn’t actually found the spark chamber himself. He’d been down the hall way with his fingers crammed into the corner under a recharge slab. 

Rewind, however, was taking pride in the fact that he was both small, and infinitely more curious than First Aid gave him credit for. Domey had his nimble hands busy with the edge of the walls a few rooms down, and when he got his processor into something, he got very intense. If there was anything in that set of cells, he would find them.

In the mean time, Rewind would take the opportunity to follow a hunch. His feet clicked softer on the floor than the other mechs, and it threw little reverberations of sound along the hallway, making the place seem bigger than it was. He’d been down here a handful of times, either to help load supplies into one of the empty cells for storage or when they’d first mapped the whole ship, but most of it was unfamiliar, even to his snapshot memory. 

A stain of energon pinked the floor just beside the storage room, more an alcove than a chamber, and he peeked around the corner, fingers digging into metal. Most of the crates stored here were designated for emergencies only; dehydrated fuel powders, backup medical supplies, a few weapons. Nudging some aside, he shimmied between them, most of them too heavy to move, towards the back of the alcove. Something in the air was acrid in his olfactory sensors, despite the untouched nature of this lower wing, and Rewind felt fuel try to creep up towards his intake and out of his tanks.

He swallowed, shoving down the nausea at the sight of the slightly ajar door in front of him as he approached it. He’d never seen it, never known about it on the other Lost Light before the DJD tore it and its crew apart, never experienced death at the hands of Overlord like the Rewind on this ship had. But he still knew it, and his fans kicked into overdrive as he pushed the door all the way open with a trembling hand. 

The room itself was unremarkable, the slow cell mechanism and any other evidence of who had been held here cleared away by a cleanup crew. A chill hung in the air, but his vents burst with heat as he moved farther in, angling his headlamp around into the corners despite himself. His processor kept pushing ghost images of randomly generated monsters to the edges of his HUD, and he shunted them into the deletion folder, trying to ignore his own emotions long enough to do what he’d come here to do. Old vids of the DJD on the battlefield and shaky cams of Overlord kept queuing themselves in his priority folder as he drew closer to the back wall, and with a final irritated snip, he closed the link to his archives.

That would keep the worst of it at bay.

At first glance, the wall was normal, a series of ports and information divots that perpetuated data and energy transfer, and Rewind ran curious fingers over the lowest set. They sparked with the remnants of electricity, though not enough to do anything, and after a moment, he reached into his subspace and pulled out a processor cable.

“Let’s see what you can tell me...”

This particular room had been cut from the rest of the ship in order to keep Overlord a secret during his initial entombment, and no one had bothered to reconnect it after all was said and done, so any scans they may have performed from the upper consoles wouldn’t have reached here. Despite himself, Rewind’s hand shook as he fumbled the processor cable into archive port on his helm, tucked behind his right audial. It clicked in cleanly, the familiar sound calming his racing fuel pump somewhat, though not his flickering HUD. 

The ship’s port was old, older than him and he was old, but Chromedome had gotten him a new adapter cable ages ago, and the thing’s AI infused input end reshaped itself to fit the age warped plug in.

Red. Red. Red. Black. Alarms blare blare blaring loud loud loud too many trains of thought loud loud not used to many pinhole window crack peek something broken burn diagnostics running address errors wait wait someone injured cog jammed wait wait First Aid Ratchet Friend medic medic medic medic Friend dark. daaaaaark, dark. synthesizer offline, initiating boot up, boot up sequence broken, attempting repairs, repairs failed, attempting contact initiation, contact format incompatible, attempting conversion, conversion program incompatible, panic panic panic panic panic

frag

Rewind stared up at the ceiling of the room, vision turned milky pink by a mixture of neuro-coolant and energon that had flooded his optic circuits as they almost burned holes in his alloy-glass visor. His HUD flashed what his scrambled processor told him were a million warnings, but he thought looked more like five or six, all for his sensory systems that he quickly dismissed. Sitting up, he clicked his visor panel open and let the excess fluid dribble out onto the floor, shaking his helm to make sure it was all gone, then shut it again, offlining his optics before giving them a reboot in safety mode. 

Well, he was almost positive he’d found the processor chamber; the port in his habsuite upstairs never did THAT when he tried to store excess vids in his appointed crew folder. It was like having ten brain modules at once, but only the RAM to use one at a time when all of them were trying to crowd into his attention at the same time. His memory of the experience wasn’t even able to fully articulate it properly. He hadn’t expected to get a full blast of the titan’s brain module, maybe only a hint towards what they were looking for, but whatever had woken the titan up seemed to have also scrambled any sort of organization it had.

His vents poured so much heat that he thought he could detect a faint shimmer in the air, and he kicked on his back up fans to make sure nothing got damaged; his alt was a data slug, not a vehicle, and his cooling system wasn’t as elaborate as his conjunx’. According to his readouts, Rewind’s temperature was high but coming down, and nothing immediately obvious was broken.

“Rewind?” Chromedome’s voice was muffled on the other side of the door, and the archivist could hear the sound of boxes being shoved out of the way. 

Finally struggling to shaky feet, he pattered over to the door, pulling it wide so the bigger bot could see him past the stacks of storage crates. Chromedome’s optics brightened behind his visor, then dimmed at the sight of Rewind’s shape dwarfed by the cell door. He pushed aside the last few crates and put a solid hand on his conjunx’ shoulder, and Rewind could feel the tension in his grasp. “Come on, let’s get out of here. There’s a corner over by the front that I want to take another look at.”

Rewind shook his helm, though he didn’t pull away from the touch, choosing instead to thread his fingers through his conjunx’. “Domey, I think they had the right idea when they...when Prowl and his crew did what they did. I think they set up the slow cell right next to the brain module.”

Chromedome’s optics dilated behind his visor, then he looked past and into the cell. Physically, it was nothing special, just a hidden room with a locking door. “How do you know? Are you sure? Did the titan communicate with you?” His hands moved to Rewind’s face, tilting his helm back at the chin so he could look into his conjunx’ still bleary optics. “It didn’t do anything to you, did it?”

Gently, Rewind took the hand on his chin and lead Chromedome into the cell by it, pointing out some of the more obvious information divots. “I think it’s letting internal system processes leak outwards by accident. I tried to see if I could pull up ship diagrams from its databank specifically for this room, since they cut it off when they first loaded the prisoner, but all I got was a sensory system nightmare.”

“That’s not how brain modules work, though.” Chromedome inspected one of the ports at his eye level. “Conscious and sensory processing occurs exclusively in the frontal quadrant of the processor. That’d be like try to perform mnemosurgery on someone’s knee joint.”

Rewind shrugged, handing his processor cord up to Chromedome. “I never said I knew how it works. You can plug in too if you want; you might be able to understand it a little better than me. Just use the cord if you do.”

Tires spinning in thought, he took the cable and examined the port again. “If...if I switch off my extra sensory systems, I can probably get SOMETHING out of this. I just need you to keep an eye and make sure I don’t hurt myself; I may not have as good a handle on digging through a titan as I do your average Autobot. I’m guessing it’s not as easy as mnemosurgery, and probably a little more...direct.”

Placing a hand on Chromedome’s leg, the minibot leaned against him. “Only you would call mnemosurgery easy.” 

But his spark still rattled in his chassis when the bigger bot connected himself to the information divot by the single processor cable, going still as could be. Rewind could see his optics dilating and contracting behind his visor, flicking through invisible landscapes and thoughts vying for his immediate attention. His fans kicked on, diverting some of the heat out of his systems, but there wasn’t any coolant flooding into his optics, and when Rewind squeezed his hand, he tightened it in response.

Several tense cycles later, that hand twitched, then went to his helm and jerked the cord out of the processor port. Fully aware, he staggered, other hand falling flat against the wall in support, vents blasting so hard they almost knocked Rewind over. The minibot staggered and grabbed at the wall as well, fuel pump nearly bursting in surprise.

“Well, that was pretty uncomfortable.” Chromedome’s vocalizer buzzed into static at the end of the sentence as all his systems rebooted, and he shook his helm. “So the good news is, we found the door and I know how to open it!”

“And the bad news?”

“Whatever is going on in the big guy’s head feels like a nightmare.” Handing the cord back to his conjunx, he pulled his visor off so he could rub at the true optics underneath it. “I’m not kidding when I say I’ve injected DEAD bots that were less...damaged? Confused? I’m not even sure what to call it. But whatever it is, I think we’re going to need an expert to fix it. This is above my pay grade, and definitely above a medic’s.”

“No time like the present, then.”

 

All five of them reconvened in front of the storage alcove to the sound of Chromedome’s shouted “Found it!” down the hallway. Of course, when he explained how Rewind had found the door, neither of the medics looked particularly pleased.

“That actually sounds like the literal best way to blow pretty much all your sensor circuits at once, and then when your conjunx went and did it even though both of you KNEW it hurt.” First Aid’s arms were crossed across his chassis in a very him way. “I’m glad you found the door, but if I even see a processor cable, I’m sending you both upstairs to Ratchet.”

Velocity nodded, not as outright irritated as him. “You know, city speakers train for a long time for a reason, you two. Just communicating out loud with them can be difficult and hard to understand, but connecting to their processor has been known to kill less experienced city speakers.”

Shrugging, Rewind tucked his cable into his subspace. “We’re not going to do it again, but it’s not like I even thought I’d be tapping straight into his processor in the first place. Most port divots on the ship just lead straight to the crew folders, not his brain.” He cast an optic at First Aid. “And you better watch out, First Aid, or else you’re gonna turn into Ratchet.”

The CMO vented, rubbing the section of face just barely visible between his mask and visor. “Sorry, I’m a little cranky today. I don’t like being clueless in a medical situation.” He motioned with a hand. “Lead the way, and we can help the big guy a lot sooner.”

They shuffled between boxes and through the door, the cell now markedly more crowded with four full sized bot and a minibot crammed into it. Chromedome approached the wall again, rubbing his chin in thought. “Let’s see if I remember this sequence correctly now...” Slender fingers outstretched, he tapped a sequence of the wall ports, each one depressing at his touch and releasing a single cheery bright note. 

The whole pattern was surprisingly long, and Rewind couldn’t help but feel he’d heard it somewhere, but his attention quickly returned to the task at hand as the wall released an absolutely hideous shriek. Rust flakes tumbled from the hidden seams at the ceiling, coating them in a fine layer of the stuff, and the acrid stench of oxidization filled the room. But the wall - door - rose anyway, squealing with age and disuse the entire way, the soft breeze that drifted through the growing entrance tinged with the scent of age and dust and open dark space.

Velocity entered first, lacking any of the hesitant fear that the other four showed by staring, startled, into the dark hallway. The sound of her footsteps indicated the vast size of the corridor, but when her high beams flickered on, it wasn’t the size that made her gasp in amazement.

Every inch of the walls and floor and ceiling of the metal hallway was covered in etched murals, the intricacy and detail unlike anything any of them had seen. Elaborate scenes of unknown alien races danced across the surfaces in swirling lines of energy, accompanied by figures obviously meant to be Cybertronians in various states of transformation, from bot mode to alt mode to in between. She pointed her lights upwards and saw the etchings on the ceiling to represent constellations and landmark space formations, and even saw several little versions of the Lost Light itself, puttering along between stars. 

“Oh wow.” The others had ventured forward, and Rewind was examining a series of alien creatures dancing nearer to the ground. “This is all done in the lost Primal Burning technique. They used to decorate Primes and prominent religious figures with Primal Burning, back during the Cybertronian Imperial Era.”

“I don’t think this is Imperial era, though.” First Aid sidled up to the minibot, following a sequence of different beings, all depicted with wings, flying in patterns with a set of what were probably old era seeker jets. “Look at the actual scenes. It’s a lot of...celebration? Peace? I’m not sure, but it looks like some kind of documentation almost, like a story.”

Velocity trotted back towards them, tracking that same line of seekers and flying creatures. The pairing of different races culminated just a little past where the two bots were tracing the mural, and then flew upwards so that only the aliens remained. Just above, something was written, a single word in a language she couldn’t read or even recognize, with a larger depiction of one of the aliens. Pointing at the word, she asked, “Any of you know what language that is?”

Rewind glanced up, optics contracting behind his visor and he strained to see. “Hmmm, it almost looks like early era Melthesian, but the Melthesian planet was destroyed a good 2 million years before the war, and any Melthesians left use neo-Carthic. You’d be lucky to find someone who reads it, let alone someone who could write it.” Silent again, he ran a hand over one of the lower images of the flying aliens. “They are a winged species, coincidentally.”

“Hey, these are Ammonites!” The three turned to Nautica down the hallway, where she was pouring over another set of illustrations. The boxy little beings here did indeed resemble the omni-combiners that had previously attacked Metroplex. She pointed excitedly at the bigger one stationed in the background as the others approached. “It even has one of the really big combined ones!”

“I’d say that’s a Cybertronian, actually.” First Aid traced a finger along a line just below the figures boxy chest. “Ammonites don’t have transformation cogs, so you won’t see a cog crease under their chassis where the transformation starts. I’m guessing this is probably our titan, but he seems very friendly with the Ammonites, considering they’re energonthirsty little-”

“He’s over here too!” Chromedome stood by a particularly large set of etchings near the end of the corridor. “Same helm shape and everything. It looks like he’s...speaking? Giving a speech of some sort? Can titans even do that without busting some audials?”

The titan figure leaned over a crowd of different alien species, a hand outstretched as the onlookers offered something in return, a stylized version of what might have been a spark, though many of the races appeared organic. The scene was labeled, but it was in several old foreign tongues that even Rewind didn’t recognize, the words glimmering with inlaid ruby and quicksilver. When his fingers brushed the illustration, a jolt of static fizzed against his metal skin and he jumped, surprised. “Well, these obviously aren’t a natural decoration, but I didn’t think a titan would be this comfortable with someone etching inside a cranial corridor.”

“If it’s been dormant this entire time, it may never have learned to fear people going through its more intimate areas.” Nautica touched the wall, feeling how the Burning process had scorched the metal into concave welds. “Titans only really became a tool of war when Cybertron decided it wanted war. I mean, the colonies weren’t afraid of us in their hallways. And this one seems very old.”

“Come on, guys.” First Aid was at the end of the hall, turning the enormous hand crank on the door to slowly pull it open. “I’m going to need all hands on deck if there’s actually something physically wrong in there.”

The other four gathered obediently behind the medic, and Chromedome helped him pull the enormous door open. It was almost five feet thick and solid, rust crackling off the hinges as they fought it wide enough open to slip through. A tangible crackle of excitement hung in their EM fields as one at time, they emerged into the darkened inner chamber, exhaust steaming out of their vents in the icy temperature of this new room. A soft hum offset the muffled silence, the sound issuing from something near the center of the room that also blinked softly with little lights of multiple colors, and when one of them turned their headlights towards it, the brain module glimmered with reflected light, the surface largely quiet of the holo-displays that had appeared on Metroplex’. 

“Look’s like it’s all in one piece.” First Aid was all business, taking no time to appreciate the awe that one would typically feel in the presence of what many considered a demi-god’s mind. He pulled a stand-up light out of his subspace and clicked it on, flooding the whole chamber with bright light. His fingers were nimble as he felt over the lower surface of the processor, following cables and lines that paralleled a smaller bots brain. “Chromedome, Velocity, come here and help me give it a basic look over. Nautica, you’ve seen a titan’s processor before. Anything look immediately different?”

The submersible shrugged helplessly as the other two passed her. “Not really? It seems pretty quiet for a titan that’s awake, but that may just be a choice issue. I’m not much help otherwise, I was really more for engine repair than CPU when I was helping out with Metroplex.”

Nodding, the CMO jammed a hand up between two enormous mechanisms as Velocity and Chromedome started examining other parts of the module. “Alright, that’s fine. You and Rewind go ahead and look around the rest of the chamber, see if you find anything.”

When she turned, Rewind was already clambering over the enormous cranial cabling, obviously delighted to get a chance to poke around the inside chamber of a titan’s helm. To her surprise, as she followed the smaller bot, in the farther corners of the chamber she found evidence that bots had been here before, albeit long ago; old mugs of long congealed and powdered energon were perched on some of the flat surfaces, old cracked datapads long since dead glared up from the floor, even synth-polymer paper notes fluttered from magnet clips on the walls. 

Most of the notes were worn so thin their messages were unreadable, but a few still held spotty bits of Old Cybertronian text in a dialect that looked so strange as to almost be another language. Some of the papers even had little doodles on them, crude images of bots she didn’t recognize acting out scenes long since past. One of them depicted a tiny version of their Lost Light titan, accompanied by bots drawn to a bigger scale, and she laughed when she picked out the little swirls on one of their faceplates that identified him as Caminus. 

“Homesick?” Nautica almost jumped into alt mode when Rewind appeared at her elbow, but she chose instead to frown down at him.

“It’s considered rude to read minds without permission, you know.”

He laughed, shifting some of the notes he had taken in his hand. “Oh, I’m not reading minds, I just know what it’s like to miss home. Happened to a lot of bots during the war.” Sobering, he glanced down at the papers in his hand, optics zipping back and forth in an attempt to decode their messages. “Our quest is over, you know. We’ll probably be heading home soon, and you’ll be able to catch up with everyone there.”

“Hmm.” She traced the scribbled doodle, feeling an unusual amount of affection for what was essentially a stick figure. “I don’t really want to go back home, to be honest, but I would like to visit. There’s something...missing from how Cybertronians interact, just little things like figures of speech and references and cultural tics. I guess I’m just lonely...I don’t keep in contact with many friends on Caminus. Last time I talked to Windblade was ages ago.”

Settling on one of the masses of cables that connected the module to the rest of the body, Rewind began paging through the notes he’d collected. “There are a couple Camiens on board here. What about Lotty? You guys are close.”

Nautica glanced over to the medic, whose hands were wrapped around a thick cable while she checked it for splits. “Of course we’re friends, we’re amica! But...we had a fight too, earlier. She’s really broken up about Swerve, and she used a mood suppressant to help take the edge off. I’m not mad about that, but she isn’t letting herself grieve and we got a little snippy with each other over taking care of herself. I think she regrets it more because she never made the whole amica thing official.”

He glanced up at her, paging to another note. “Didn’t realize they were that close to the big A...but I’m going to miss him too, to be honest. We were pretty close, although I’d probably say we drifted apart recently, especially since the whole Lost Light quantum split discovery.” 

“You don’t seem too upset. Not in a bad way, I mean.” She immediately wanted to stick one of her propellers directly into her mouth to shut herself up. “You’re just very level headed about it.”

Venting, he abandoned his notes for a klik and gazed off towards the flurry of activity around the brain module. “Nautica, I’m really old. Like, really old. I’ve lived a lot longer than most bots my type got to, especially during the functionalism era, and I’ve seen a lot of people come and go. And with the war...you don’t forget the friends you lose when you get to be my age, but sometimes it’s a lot easier to mourn peacefully when you know the dead wanted the best for you. 

“Remember Swearth? He hated how much we were worried about him, to the point he didn’t realize it was killing him.” He watched Chromedome snatch a cord out of First Aid’s hand as the CMO almost toppled to the floor, having tripped over his own stand light. “I don’t want to hurt my friends’ memory by hurting myself. After Dominus...I guess I realized it’s best to celebrate a life than mourn a death. I lost a lot of time running after him, especially when it was hurting Domey.”

“You loved Dominus.” She traced a finger over the Caminus doodle, remembering how Windblade used to apply those same marks to her faceplates everyday. “There’s nothing wrong with that. And Chromedome knew it.”

“Yeah, I know.” Looking back at her, he shrugged. “Sometimes I think we love too fast and too hard though. We’re a race that lives for millions of years and even we have stories of love at first sight. Kinda silly.”

Nautica caught the flash of teal in the corner of her vision. “Yeah...so, can you read these? It looks like Old Cybertronian of some sort, but not in a dialect I’ve ever seen.”

His attention back on the task at hand, Rewind tapped the side of his helm in thought. “Oh, it’s an old shorthand that traveling crews would use to leave messages and reminders to each other on devices and places with limited character spaces. Fell out of use with the advent of Neo-Cybex though. Most of these are just little notes between friends. A bunch of them are to some bot named Viminalus telling him not to leave his reports lying around in something called the ‘gather place.’ It doesn’t have a direct translation in Neo-Cybex, but it sounds like it might be a sort of recreational area.”

“Guess bots have been the same for a long time, then.” She couldn’t stop the soft smile creeping over her lips. “I saw Ultra Magnus lecturing Whirl for just leaving his reports in front of the captain’s office.”

“That’s because Rodimus kept stepping on the datapads.” He pulled a larger piece of paper from near the back of his stack. “I’m most interested in this one, though. It looks like a set of rules for the module chamber, and it names someone just called Champion several times.”

Nautica crowded around to his side, looking at the illegible list. This one was in a long hand Old Cybertronian that she could read, and to her surprise, the rules seemed very...loose for the brain chamber of a titan.

 

CREW REMINDERS  
\- All crew members are permitted to interact with Champion, but he is to be treated equivalent to an officer of captain rank.  
\- Chamber must be kept neat and tidy. Please clear away any debris when you leave the chamber.  
\- If Champion is in recharge, please do not play anything performed by the Nova Tetrahexian Choir. It will wake him up.  
\- No interfacing in the chamber. (This means you, Peylax and Victorus!)  
\- Energon is permitted, but all engex must be kept in a closed container.  
\- If you have a request of Champion, please have a story ready as payment.  
\- Notify Champion before you plug any external devices into an info or power port.

 

“They really had to specify no interfacing in the brain chamber of a titan?” Despite her outright disgust, though, her biggest curiosity was the name Champion. Obviously, that was the name of the titan, but it triggered something in the back of her data bank, a memory just beyond the reach of her retrieval programs. Had she learned it in school? Was it something from her time with Windblade and Chromia? Why was that name familiar?

Rewind was adjusting his camera. “You ever hear anything by the Nova Tetrahexians? Finding recordings by them is hard now, but man it was something.” The projector function flickered to life, part of the cabling near them brightening with a warped loading image. “I don’t have any vids of them, but most older Tetrahexians could probably sing you a song or two. Sort of a pride thing, I think.”

Nautica hesitated, propellers starting to spin. “No, most music on Caminus is lyricless. It’s more a tool for dancing than for -” She was interrupted loudly, suddenly, by the image of Cyclonus standing in his habsuite, hands gesturing at nothing, his rough accented voice vibrating in her audials it was so loud. Nearby, all three of the others turned around to stare at Rewind and the recorded image belting out some overly patriotic anthem in Old Cybertronian. 

Lights blazed to light overhead. Holodisplays popped into being around the room, contents scrambled, most in alien languages, all staticky and glitching. Several detailed graphs threw themselves up around the brain module itself, almost startling Chromedome into falling over, but Velocity caught him by the arm. First Aid looked more lost than ever, looking down at the cable in his hand like it was about to come to life and bite him, but it just flickered with little biolights instead.

Rewind nodded, tucking the notes into his subspace and flicking off the recording. “Looks like he’s awake and in one piece! Now all we need is the city speaker.” He glanced at the nearest display. “Hopefully one that’s been to Earth, though.”

Nautica looked at the display as well, not recognizing the language. “This is an Earth language? What’s it doing on the displays of an ancient lost titan?”

The data slug shrugged, examining the readout more carefully. “I dunno, that’s not my department. I’m the Cybertronian history guy, not the Earth history guy. Would love to talk to him once we get a translator, though.”

Velocity elbowed First Aid and he started, then fumbled with his commlink for a second. “Rodimus? Yeah, it’s First Aid. I have good news and bad news. Good news? We found it! Bad news...well, you may look into talking to someone on the Council of Worlds about the Earth representative...”


	6. Overwork

Even though the ship was currently out of commission, Thunderclash could still tell when it was cycling into its night phase; bots deserted the corridors, habsuite doors usually left open to socialize were closed, and certain halls had been manually dimmed.

It also meant that he could slip into something a little more comfortable.

The only time Thunderclash could take to his alt mode without worrying about running over any wayward crewmates was the night phase, when a skeleton crew operated in the bowels of the engine and most of the others were offline in recharge. He didn’t begrudge them that; he was a large bot with a large alt mode, and and he certainly didn’t want to accidentally hurt someone just because he was a little more comfortable on wheels than on feet. Less top heavy, less likely to overlook a smaller mech, a little more agile...sure he couldn’t turn on a shanix, but he definitely had a little more speed to his movement.

Rubber creaked as he descended to the basement floor off the ramp, headlights flicking on to illuminate the darkened brig wing, which was labeled with a hastily made sign that said “APPROVED PERSONNEL ONLY (BRAINSTORM IS NOT APPROVED PERSONNEL)” pinned above it. A list of the aforementioned approved personnel scrolled on the info-pad next to the entrance, and Thunderclash exchanged wheels for hands and feet so he could sign in under his name; he’d requested permission to visit the chamber as soon as he’d heard that it had been discovered whole. 

The info-pad took his spark signature and disabled the security scanners across the entrance, allowing him to cross the threshold without setting off alarms that would online half the ship. Pausing a moment in the dark, he transformed back to alt mode - his lights tucked away in bot mode, and most of the emergency light stands had been moved into the actual chamber - and rumbled away down the hallway towards what Rodimus had taken to calling the Party Hall, in his charming way.

Some of the races on the walls in here were recognizable, and Thunderclash picked out both the Pherusians and the Crin-Tin by their scrawled names. The first had taught him and his entire crew how to speak their language of dance, and their name was written in pictograms of the dance moves that conveyed their tongue. The Crin-Tin...had been a less friendly people, but their grasp of mechanical medicine despite being organic had been fascinating. His headlights cast odd shows with the etching patterns into the dark hallway as he crept past these two sections of the murals, making it more obvious as he neared the open door at the end that someone was working in the module chamber.

He expected to find First Aid at work within, probably running still more systems diagnostics on a ship. It hadn’t been easy, with a million different Earth languages flashing across the screens, accompanied by occasional flashes of old Cybertronian or other alien languages, to even figure out how to DO that, but some of the bots onboard knew a few Earth languages. From what they could decipher, the medic team had managed to run checks on some of the most basic life systems, but a bot this big took a long time to scan all its hardware and software.

To his surprise, though, he caught sight of pointed teal kibble poking up from behind a bundle of cables all the width of his arm just behind the module itself. Velocity stood up from her spot behind the cables, carefully suturing a tear in one of the bundles with a laser scalpel as a white noise generator whirred atop a nearby stand light, the volume up so loud that the steady whine of the flickering displays drowned under its fuzzy hiss. She faced the module itself, so her shoulder tire blocked her vision of him, but even the heavy crunch of his transformation sequence from alt to bot didn’t get her attention.

“Velocity?” Thunderclash’s hand was gentle on her arm as he tapped her, but the medic nearly jumped out of her wheels, which both spun on her shoulders. The laser scalpel clattered to the floor at her feet and her optics were sparking when she looked at him like a startled turbofox.

“Thunderclash!” Her vocalizer hitched, and she rebooted it quickly, crouching down to retrieve the scalpel. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you come in. I’m just doing a little of surface level maintenance.” Straightening up, she tilted her helm towards the noise generator. “Rung let me borrow his fan sounds. Helps me think, but sometimes I can get a little, um, focused.”

He glanced at the little machine as the medic fumbled with the switch on the side to turn it off. “It’s fine, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” Crossing his arms, Thunderclash leaned his elbows on the chest bundle of cords in between them. “I expected to find First Aid, since he’s on the shift list for maintenance tonight, but it’s always a delight to talk to to my favorite Camien medic.”

His broad smile disarmed her, as it did with most bots, and she offered a smile back, a genuine if not tired one. Metal clanked against metal as she sorted through the cables, looking for the one she had been repairing. “Oh, I just took his shift for him, since he’s been a little stressed out the past couple solar cycles. I like night phase anyway; much quieter, less people coming around with missing limbs. I’m surprised to see you up and about, though.”

“You know how hard it is for me to stretch my wheels around here during the day,” he replied, pointing over the wall of cables to where she’d dropped the one she had been suturing, and she took the scalpel to it once again. “There’s quite a few smaller mechs on board, and I wouldn’t want to risk injuring anyone just because I’m a little cramped.”

Velocity nodded in sympathy, face slightly obscured by the brilliant light of the laser. “I’ve been getting bots in the medbay with cog seizure because of that more and more often. Even the little mechs aren’t transforming enough; I’ve had to actually prescribe time on the track floor in alt mode for both fliers and grounders.”

He nodded absentmindedly, watching the slow burn and sealing of the cable’s metal skin. “Of course I’ve been putting in time on the track, but there’s nothing quite like a slow drive through the ship.” Pausing, he caught sight of her bio-lights, bright yellow pinpricks glowing around her shoulder struts and chassis joints. The glow flickered occasionally, a few of them out of sync and one or two even completely powered down. “Always good to make sure we’re taking care of ourselves, hm?”

Her steady hand paused, and she glanced at him out of the corner of her optics. “You know, I’m still not sure why you didn’t ever become a medic yourself. You’ve got that way for scooting the conversation towards a person’s health.” Straightening up, she exchanged her scalpel on the tray beside her and selected a mini-sander, flicking it on and taking it to the repair scar on the cable. The high pitched whine filled the chamber completely, setting Thunderclash’ denta on edge and apparently disturbing the titan, as the holo-displays closest to them started flashing warnings and messages at a very obviously irritated pace. 

The messages didn’t seem to affect Velocity in any way, other than to get her to look up at them and tell the titan , “Oh, you’re fine. I know for a fact that this cabling doesn’t have any pain sensors. A little noise won’t kill you.”

Temporarily distracted, Thunderclash glanced at the nearest display. “You can read these?” It was definitely an Earth language - or maybe a few, as the letters changed every few lines, and several glitched patches interrupted the lines.

The medic shook her helm, sanding away a particular sharp edge of the weld. “No, but they flash every time I make a sound that’s too loud. I’m guessing the big guy has a nasty processor ache from sensory system overload; coming back online after being in stasis for too long can make for a nasty shock.” Almost on cue, she pulled a hand away from the sander to rub at her eyes, venting softly. “He’s not the only one, though.”

He snagged an empty stool from nearby that had “MEDBAY PROPERTY” scratched into the metal front and hefted it over the cables, and she took it gratefully, setting it down and nearly falling into a sitting position. Settling his elbows back on the cable, he perched his chin in his hand. “I know First Aid has been having a rough time of it, but you don’t look so hot yourself. Pulling a double shift isn’t exactly taking care of yourself.”

“We don’t have enough medics.” Velocity mimicked his posture, propping an elbow on her knee and then her chin on her hand. “We’ve got too many bots and not enough medics, and now we’ve got one very big bot and none of us know how to fix him.” Her optics roamed over the enormous brain module, picking out the flashing lights and illegible holo-displays and age wear in parts of the metal.

He motioned to the sander dangling limply in her fingers. “You seem to be doing a decent job of it so far.”

Her fingers tightened on the sander. “These are little things, Thunderclash. A medical drone could do these kind of things.”

“You’re not a miracle worker or a city speaker. You can’t beat yourself up about these things, Lotty.”

“But I finally passed my exams!” Her reply was shouted, and she buried her face in her hands, muffling her voice. “I should know what’s wrong! Titans are just big bots, I shouldn’t be just sitting around while he’s right in front of me needing fixing!”

Startled by her reaction, he hesitated for a moment, paging through responses in his processor. Then he kicked a leg up over the cables and slid across them, stepping down onto the floor beside Velocity and put a hand on her shoulder. “Have you talked to Rung about it? He might be able to help. He is certified as a grief counselor, you know, even if he thinks he’s not qualified anymore.”

She pulled her face out of her hands, revealing her sparking optics and crumpled expression. “It’s just all catching up with me, I think. I’ve seen people die before, Thunderclash, but I usually at least get to try and help them. I don’t like being helpless, and first it was Skids, and then it was Swerve, and now this stupid titan is being almost purposely obtuse...” 

Venting hard enough to disturb the papers around her, she looked down. “I was so excited when I passed my exams, you know. I’m not naturally gifted at study and that kind of thing. Nautica’s the only reason I made it...” Velocity gripped the sander and put it back to the weld, shaping the last of it down from a thick ropy line to a thin scar. “And now she and I are fighting because I was being stupid and over sensitive.” She had to yell to be heard over the sound of the sander.

“She’s your best friend, isn’t she?” He shouted as well, and the displays overhead flashed angry messages again. “I’m sure she understands that it’s been hard on you.” 

“Yeah, but she shouldn’t have to understand.” With the device switched off once again, her vocalizer lowered her voice to a reasonable level. “She’s just been trying to help, and I snapped at her for no reason.”

“It’s not for no reason.” For the first time, Thunderclash’ voice was stern. Sitting on top of the cabling, he crossed his arms, tilting his helm. “You’re grieving, and you were using mood suppressants, and you aren’t physically in your best shape. You should probably apologize, but she won’t be mad at you.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I just feel stupid for being so upset about Swerve; I didn’t know him for nearly as long as a lot of the people on the ship did, so I feel like a drama bot.” 

He shrugged. “I’d like to say it’s in our nature to fall hard and fast into our feelings, whether romantic or platonic. You’d think that a people that live for as long as we do learn to think first, love later, but we don’t seem to be very good at that, whether Cybertronian or Camien.” Placing a finger to the side of his nose, he winked. “Remind me to tell you about the time that Ratchet and I almost got hitched in school. THAT was a close one.”

Velocity’s squawked “WHAT?” elicited another flurry of irritated holo-display warnings.

 

The medic dragged herself into her habsuite several mega-cycles later with the beginning of the day phase just beginning, all of her systems flickering at power save levels. Thunderclash had retired to his own habsuite already, though she had to wonder how he found the energy to operate on so little recharge time, and Velocity had only left the brain chamber herself when the lights had flickered off. Even the light stands had refused to turn back on, and she’d taken that as a sign that Champion had had enough of the sander in his brain for one night.

Nautica had already left for her early shift, which she was secretly glad of as the small lamp above her slab flickered on at her touch. Velocity still wanted to apologize to her friend, but she wanted it to do it when her auto-language program was still online and she could string words together properly. The extra instruments in her arm compartments rattled as she sat on the edge of her slab, and she took her time emptying them into the slabside table drawer next to a set of zero-grav jacks and a digital photo frame of her and the crew of the Vis Vitalis. Several of the jacks began to float up and out of the drawer, and it took the academy trained medic several minutes to get them all to stay as she closed it.

Working on Champion’s brain had left her fingers scorched with scalpel marks, and the paint scratched and marred in several places. A soft pain throbbed in her fingertips and joints, the join between her hands and arms hurting enough to throw maintenance warnings onto her HUD, but she dismissed them with a mental flick, throwing herself sideways so she could lay straight on her back, helm and kibble poking through through the chain mesh of the slabs head rest. She could check for stress damages later; right now she just wanted to plug in and go into stasis for a few mega-cycles.

Unfortunately, to her great disappointment, the lamp overhead refused to turn off. Without the buzz of work to keep her mind busy, Velocity felt the irritation grow worse as she fiddled with the switch on the wall above her slab. Exhaustion was making her cranky, and this stupid titan with his stupid name and his stupid nonfunctional language processor and his stupid broken systems was making it WORSE. Shuffling onto her knees on the slab, she slammed the heel of her hand against the switch.

The light stayed on.

“FINE. FINE. YOU WIN!” Throwing herself backwards, she dug her hands, one of which was now even more sore, into her optics. “I’m just trying to HELP you, you stupid oversized sparkling! If you stopped throwing a temper tantrum and speak to me in plain neo-cybex, maybe I could fix you! Sorry I’m not some stupid fancy city speaker who can do magic and snap my fingers to make it better!”

The room around her remained silent; no mythical being descended from the ceiling to apologize for the titan’s behavior, or to grant her amazing medical powers that could fix any kind of bot. Velocity remained prone, upside down on the slab, hands jammed against her optics, listening to the soft life sounds of the ship; support systems booting and shutting down, the clunk of bots in the upper floors, someone transforming outside her habsuite door.

A clattering chk-thunk broke the muffled background noise, and then the sound of automated motors hissed against her audials. Her denta ground together as the cleaner drone exited its little service door in the wall and went about its work, the sound of its little vacuum exacerbating the staccato drumbeat of pain in her processor. 

It trundled about for several cycles, making as much noise as possible, trying to get as much nonexistent dirt off the floor as possible off the clean metal floor. A previous drone had already disposed of the Camien glass Velocity had left on the floor, and both she and Nautica had been extremely busy the past few day cycles trying to get the ship back into some kind of working order, so there was precious little to actually clean. The drones were on a scheduled cycle though, and she was usually gone by the time it cleaned every day. Except, of course, for the day phase when she wanted to sleep.

After several more cycles, the vacuum quieted, and she waited for the click of the door that meant the drone had left. When she didn’t hear the door, she finally removed her hands from her optics and turned her helm to see the little drone parked right by her slab.

It was a little featureless half orb of silver and black, the top capped with a little circular screen that displayed the climate conditions inside the current room. The vacuum tube was hidden away somewhere, probably tucked up underneath, but a single spindly arm extended from a tiny hatch in its side, ending in a three fingered claw that held a single vacuum disposal box.

Velocity just stared at it, and the little drone crept a bit closer, extending its spindly arm a little more. The readout on its circular screen blurred, and was replaced by fluctuating languages, some from Earth but most unrecognizable. Beeping impatiently, it edged forward a little more, waving the box back and forth the best it could with its poor coordination. She still didn’t take it, and it finally switched its vacuum on, revving its tiny motor and wagging the box again. 

“Alright, alright!” She took it delicately from the thing’s claw, which then retracted back into the hatch with a quick click. The drone remained there though, and she looked down at the disposal box; it was the usual kind you would find in cleaning drones, made of some that degrade once launched into space. A little clip on the side held the neck of it closed where it would attach to the vacuum tube, and she flicked it open. “Oh.”

Pebbles of Camien glass glimmered inside, the same pebbles that she had lost a few solar cycles before. Though dusty and smelling slightly of the underside of a recharge slab, it was almost all there, and Nautica had been right; even shattered, it would fetch a pretty shanix.

Velocity looked down at the little drone and its readout, which now displayed a grainy image of the Lost Light and several glitched lines of text that she couldn’t understand, save for a single word in stitched together letters that obviously came from several different images.

_Sorry._

She patted the top of the drone, placing the box on her table. “Me too, Champion. Sorry for yelling and sorry for not being able to fix you. It’s nice that I can at least read part of what you’re trying to say, though.”

The light overhead cut off.


	7. Held Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god please just take it i had so much trouble with this scene

“Can you pass me that bolter right there? Thank you.” Nautica watched the cleaning drone hand Velocity the bolter gun from her position at the entrance to the chamber, propellers held straight out from her back so she could comfortably lean on the door frame. First Aid was swaying softly to music playing in his audials while he examined a string of cords he had pulled from the bottom of the brain module, but the submersible was much more interested in her friend as she pulled the bolter gun from the drone’s outstretched claw. Having fulfilled her request, its little claw folded away into its side and the drone buzzed away back towards the toolbox that Velocity had left near the corner.

She was sure her roommate had pulled an all nighter the previous night cycle; the engineer had woken to the same empty habsuite she’d offlined in. Velocity had pushed herself a lot in school, and Nautica had been right there to help her, but now? This was a combination of avoidance and guilt.

A string of beeps and clicks issued from the corner, and Nautica was surprised to see that the little cleaning drone had once again extended a long spindly claw, this time to point at her. Velocity looked up at the drone and then to the door where it was pointing, and then quickly down again when she saw her friend.

Oh, they were playing this game then. Pushing off the door frame, Nautica strode purposefully over to where the teal medic stood on the ladder so she could reach the top of the module. Velocity had nearly buried her entire faceplate in the side of Champion’s brain, trying to look anywhere but at Nautica’s face like she still couldn’t see her, but the submersible knew from the several rough turnovers her engine was making that she knew her friend was there.

“You know, you’re a lot less confrontational when the person you’re angry at is your actual amica.” Hands planted on her hips, she leaned sideways to try to catch the medic’ss eyes as Velocity burrowed further into the bolt she was fastening into the brain module. “I clearly remember you trying to ARREST Anode when you first saw her again.”

Velocity scowled into her hands. still fiddling with the bolt. “I should go and try and arrest her now. It’s her fault those scraplets got out in the first place.” The bolter cauterized the bolt into place, form a neat weld around the head of the fastener against the sinewy woven alloy of the cable. She tossed the bolter away, and the little maintenance drone darted over just in time to catch it before it dented against the ground. Its little beeps grew indignant, and she frowned. “Sorry.”

Nautica leaned against the module, flaring her propellers as forward as possible so they didn’t dig into her shoulder mechanisms. “Anode can be a slagger, but that wasn’t really where I was going with that.”

Though no longer pressing her nose directly into the back of her hands, Velocity still wouldn’t look at Nautica. “I’m not angry at you, Nauts.”

“Well, I can’t think of why else you’ve been avoiding me. I’d get it if your were busy, but you’re actively taking shifts that’ll keep you out of the habsuite.” Nautica watched the little drone fish through one of the several tool chests on the ground, sorting the items inside by shade of gray. 

“It’s not about you.” Velocity winced at the sharpness in her tone.

“It sure feels like it.” Crossing to the tool chest, the submersible pulled one of the larger wrenches out from its hiding place behind the chest and handed it to the drone. It chirruped in response, then played a glitchy little tune that sounded familiar, but that she couldn’t place. “I’m not asking you to go to the bar with me every day, but you skipped an entire recharge cycle the other night just so you wouldn’t have to see me.”

Velocity finally pulled back from her work, looking her friend square in the face. “I’m not avoiding you, Nautica. I’m really not. I’ve just been...I don’t like the mood suppressants. I took them the first day, and they made me feel like I’d downloaded malware off some skeazy personality mod site.” Sliding down the ladder, she thudded to the ground, taking a few extra steps so she didn’t land flat on her face. 

“But there’s not really a better way for me to do anything about all the sludge backing up in my processor right now.” She rubbed fingers over aching optic shutters, venting hard enough to send several loose screws rolling across the ground. “It’s not just what happened with Swerve either. It’s being away from home for so long, about being constantly worried about all of you, about all the extra pressure.”

Nautica drew closer to the medic, threading her fingers through teal ones, and rubbed her friend’s knuckle joints, smoothing crumpled wiries. “Why are you so worried, Lotty? You’re an excellent doctor. And you’re not the only one onboard. You don’t have to shoulder it all alone.”

Velocity looked away, but leaned her head onto the submersible’s shoulder, squeezing her hand back. “Nauts, you do realize this is the first ship I’ve served on as a medic in an official capacity,r ight?”

Nautica’s gaze drifted off into the middle distance as she frowned. “Mmm...you were a medic on the Vis Vitalis. And you interned at that Mederi center.”

“It was a student internship. And I barely did any actual work on the Vitalis because those bots knew how to take care of themselves. I was mostly there to make sure Thunderclash didn’t bust his transmission or go into spark arrest, and that was easy for the most part.”

At their feet, the little drone finished its work, closing the tool box and playing a little tune. Both of them watched it putter around tidying up as Nautica replied, “You passed your exams. You know what you’re doing.”

“Exams are exams, Nauts. They’re held in controlled environments, with fully trained doctors in case of a mistake. A lot of our actual test surgeries are done on drones constructed to mimic the Cybertronian frame. Here?” She shook her helm, engine going from soft background hiss to anxious rumble. “I’ve had to figure out how to fix things that theoretically shouldn’t be possible in our systems, and sometimes I can only fix it half way. Do you know how many bots onboard have to take medication for chronic conditions we can’t completely repair?”

At the submersible’s inquisitive look, she said, “Ninety three. There are ninety three bots on this ship that take spark stabilizers, or electron supplements, or oil thinners, or a million different other kind of medications because I couldn’t make the right repair. I couldn’t make their systems all better, like you tell a sparkling that just busted a knee cable for the first time.” 

“Lotty.” Nautica suddenly shifted under Velocity’s helm, then slid her hand away to grasp her friend around the tires and shoulders, straightening the medic up. “Lotty, those are medications for unavoidable issues. I’m not a medic, but I know chronic electro deficiency is caused by a sudden influx of alternating current. You can’t do anything about those kinds of things. Even Ratchet and a team of the best medics in a clinic full of the latest equipment wouldn’t be able to cure CED.”

“But I feel like I should!” Suddenly, the tires spun in her hands and she jerked away, and Velocity did the same, vocalizer rebooting several times before she could speak again. “I know I can’t and I know it’s not my fault but...”

Nautica saw cooling fluid bubbling up in the medic’s sensors, and her immediately ached. “Oh, brightspark, come here.” Despite Velocity’s height, the submersible was still able to easily reach up and pull her into an embrace, pressing the medic’s face against her shoulder. Velocity’s vocalizer clicked and went into standby mode, emitting a high whine as she buried her faceplates and optics into the delicate cabling of Nautica’s neck, slicking the plating there with a messy mixture of cooling fluid and lens cleaner. The medic’s broad arms wrapped around Nautica’s shoulders, settling on the base of her propellers and locking behind her pauldron pieces. 

Velocity’s whole frame shook against Nautica’s as she sobbed into her shoulder, vocalizer hitching with little pops and fizzes of static as she sagged against her friend. At their feet, the little drone drift in a small circle around them, issuing soft beeps in a manner that almost seemed intelligent. Luckily, Nautica noted that First Aid was still swaying softly to the music in his audials, and she shuffled them into the shelter of the brain module so he wouldn’t catch sight of Lotty.

“Shh, it’s okay, Lotty. I know it’s hard, you’re so brave for doing so well...” She rocked Lotty back on forth, then moved to sit them both down on a bundle of cables. The medic stumbled, but followed suit, still clutching onto Nautica’s shoulders like a life preserver thrown to a flier stuck in an oil pit. Her hiccuping sobs had calmed somewhat, but something about her embrace was still desperate, still looking for comfort. “When was the last time you got leave time?”

“I can’t take any, we don’t have enough medics.” Lotty’s voice was muffled, and she turned her head so Nautica could hear her better. “I haven’t taken any.”

Nautica finally pulled away from her friend, sliding her hands up around her faceplates to look her straight in the eyes. “Velocity of Feylex, are you telling me you haven’t taken any leave in the year you’ve been on board?” Realizing this tact was just making it worse, the submersible pursed her lips and vented. “Sweetspark, if you don’t take care of yourself, how can you take care of other people?”

Lotty cast her optics away, threading her fingers through one of Nautica’s hands on her face. “I’ve just been...putting it off. I’m afraid if I leave the medbay for too long, there’ll be an emergency they need help with and I won’t be there.”

“Lotty, I love you like rust loves iron, but you’re not that important. And that’s a good thing!” She hurriedly added the last part at the injured expression her amica gave her. “It means that you have time to take care of yourself.” Tapping a digit against Lotty’s chin, Nautica pressed the brow of her helm against the medic’s. “How about this. Rodimus told me before I came down here that Windblade agreed to holo-call us so she could get a look at what’s going on in Champion’s head. After that, you take three solar cycles off and we go down to the holo-suite and take a fake-cation to the Minorus Mountains back home, hm?”

Wiping excess fluid away from her optics, Lotty nodded. “Took a lot less time than I thought to get in touch with Windblade. It’ll be nice to see her again.”

Nautica smiled, shifting so her shoulder touched Lotty’s. “Yeah, I miss her and Chromia. It’ll be interesting to see what she thinks of...all of this.” She waved a hand at the mess of glitching message holos and blinking lights on the brain module.

At her feet, the little drone beeped, and Lotty smiled. “Don’t think he takes to kindly to you being rude about his brain. I think it’s amazing.”

“Oh!” Nautica looked at the drone’s blurred and glitched mess of a screen, which scrolled blurry images of tools. “I didn’t realize his language processing center was still online. Or that he controlled the drones. I’m so sorry, Champion.”

The drone whirred in response, knocking its little round body against her leg, then slid its little claw out of its compartment to shake at Nautica. Lotty laughed, then squeezed her fingers around Nautica’s. “Nauts?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”


	8. Conversation and Consent

The rhythm of their steps didn't quite match as Rodimus and Minimus strode down the hallway with a purpose, the latter's leaving a little less time between feet hitting the metal floor. As the solar cycles had passed and maintenance progressed, Champion's corridors had slowly shifted back into their correct arrangement, meaning this was the first time either of the two had been able to travel from point A to point B on the ship without having to clamber up steep inclines or request the aid of a flier. 

"Rodimus, I've told you at least twelve times that they're NOT going to take the Lost Light. I've checked the new charter for the council at least five times, and they have no justification." Text scrolled steadily down Minimus' HUD as he spoke, but it didn't seem to obstruct his view in the slightest as he dodged around a mini-bot picking up some scattered spare parts without changing his pace. "Even if they could, why would they want to?"

Chewing his lip, the captain glared down at the sentence he had read on his datapad three times in a row, effect ruined by the fact that he had to push his corrective lenses up the bridge of his nose again. "Call me Red Alert if you want, Min, but I'm just not a huge fan of official channels, alright? Pretty much every time I turn around some government is doing something to slag everyone else over. Even the alien ones. If Megatron hadn't been such a huge piece of work, you and I might have originally ended up on opposite side during the war."

"It's Minimus, Rodimus." The rest of the reply only hit him then, and Minimus halted in his tracks as Rodimus continued on. "Are you saying you agreed with the Decepticons?!"

"Most of Nyon did when they first popped out of the ground, Minimus, try to keep up." His spoiler twitched on the second syllable of the mini-bots name, as though the formality almost hurt, and he dismissed several memos from different bots on board about various issues being caused by Champion. Rodimus spoke again as the former enforcer caught up, disapproving look on his green faceplate. "I'm glad the Autobots won, but a lot of the core principles before Megatron decided to have a midlife crisis while leading an army weren't wrong. Sentient beings and freedom and all that."

"They committed a lot of war crimes, Rodimus."

"So did we. I'm not defending them, I'm just saying we should always be careful when new people are put in power." Checking his internal chronometer, the speedster revved his engine in annoyance as they turned the corner to the ramp leading to the basement. "Ratchet better not be late. From the way Starscream was talking, Windblade has about 5 kliks to meet with us before she has to go talk to seventeen other bots."

"I've been waiting for you for the past three megacycles, so I'm not the late one." Ratchet stood at the entrance to the ramp, hands tucked into his hip plates. Stains around his fingertips told them he'd been working on something just before leaving the medbay. 

Rodimus offered a reflexive smile of greeting, the kind he seemed to give out to any bot he hadn't seen for more than 30 kliks. He subspaced the datapad as they breezed through door to the ramp, Ratchet falling in step next to both of them. "Aw come on, you're exaggerating. You haven't even been awake for three megacycles."

The medic huffed through his vents, sending loose parts clattering in his cooling system. "I wish that were true. It seems every time I turn around some other young bot is having some kind of existential crisis, but this time it was me. I don't like being put in a position where I don't know what's going on, Rodimus."

Ah, the CMO issue. Rodimus knew First Aid had been a bit cagey about the progress on Champion's repairs with Ratchet, but he hadn't thought it had been enough to affect such a steady bot this much. "First Aid knows what he's doing, Ratch. I'm sure he'll fill you in on it all when he has a better grasp of the Hell a titan even works."

"First Aid?" The look the medic gave him clearly indicated that they were talking about different things. "First Aid's fine. He's a good doctor even if he has his...quirks. I wouldn't have made him CMO if I didn't think he could handle it." He rubbed his faceplate as they descended the ramp slowly, accounting for the spring mechanisms that were still busted in Minimus' smaller armor's hips. "It's this titan. Even with the physical issues taken care of, as a medic I have to care about whether or not he consents to what we may end up having to do, Rodimus."

"End up having to do?" Rodimus hesitated at the switchback to the next level of the ramp, frowning. "Do you expect you'll have to what? Put him in a stasis lock or something?"

The other two stopped a bit ahead of him, and Minimus' engine rumbed softly in thought. "Typically, anything more than base repairs have to be approved by the patient or an executor of their will, Rodimus. It IS in the medical oath, I suppose...I'm surprised a battlefield medic like you is concerned with strict guidelines of consent in a situation like this, though I do commend you."

It was Ratchet's turn to frown. "It's more 'titans are a type of Cybertronian I don't understand and can't gauge for spark.' I know a bot with his legs torn off leaking from three different ports wants me to fix him up, but none of the medics on this ship can tell you how or why Champion got to this point or what he wants done. That IS something Aid and I have been talking about..." Their progress resumed and Rodimus caught up, tucking himself back in between them.

"We've been discussing -" Ratchet's words were cut off with the swell of music overhead as the speakers crackled to life with a human song. Minimus grabbed Rodimus shoulder, rolling his optics.

"This same song has played three times today, and all three times he's broken out in dance," the SIC said to the medic in way of explanation, before releasing the captain's shoulder.

Rodimus drew himself up to his full height, which most likely only seemed taller because of the missing loom of Ultra Magnus. "The Cha Cha Slide is THE best thing the human race ever made, and I will only abstain because I don't want outshine Minimus' surely INCREDIBLE dance skills." They took another switchback as he did a little in place shuffle, then quickly caught up, voice a bit louder over the music. "So. You and Aid?"

"Yeah, we've been talking about exactly what happens when we do get the big guy up and about again. And this isn't just a medicine thing. We've been flying around in this ship for years now with no idea that we got a titan napping under us, and I can't count the number of times someone's blown something up or torn something off of it." The medic pulled on one of his hands, wincing as things realigned with a snap. "If Champion decides he doesn't want to play explorer anymore, we won't have the right to stop him."

Oh, this. The big elephant in the room, as humans liked to say. He wasn't trying to put off this conversation, per say, but it wasn't one he really wanted to have right at this very moment. Having these kinds of conversations were HARD and he got frustrated easily. Seeing as he was about to have a meeting with one of the leading experts on titans, as well as being a council member, he wanted to be in the best mental state so as not to come off as...impatient.

Rodimus chewed his lip as they finally hit the bottom floor and came to a stop in front of the brig entrance. To the surprise of all three of them, Brainstorm stood in front of the entrance, hands clasped politely in front of him, though the captain could tell that the steady rock back and forth in one of his wings meant that he was getting bored. Something scrolled across his HUD, but he quickly shut it down when they approached, crinkling his eyes in a way that suggested he was smiling beneath his blast mask.

"Roddy!" His voice crackled on the upswing of the word, and he leaned against the wall next to the notice that read 'ANY BRAINSTORMS FOUND IN THIS AREA WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW.' "Noticed the changing sign; very nice touch. Are the phrases self generated or did you get come up with them all yourself?" 

"That was actually Perceptor's idea." Rodimus couldn't help the chuckle as Minimus answered for him, brushing past the jet to sign in on the personnel pad. The SIC gave him one of his patented Looks before continuing, "I believe he still harbors a bit of uh, shall we say, animosity over the fact that you were keeping something as dangerous as viscous atonium in the same laboratory that you two work in." He frowned, tapping the side of his thigh in an uncharacteristic fidget. "I'm afraid I would have to agree with him. Though I am-"

"You can come with us, Brainstorm." Both Minimus and Ratchet swiveled to glare daggers at Rodimus as he spun on a heel, ostentatiously flaring the finial spikes outlining his face. "But you have to empty your entire subspace. Sort of like no weapons allowed, but it's with tools. Actually, scratch that," he waved a hand in front of his face, "those are the same thing to you. So, no guns and no laser scalpels, most of which you probably stole from medbay, no polarity scales, no micro-welders, no screwdrivers, and all the assorted torture devices you use."

Ratchet scowled from next to the entrance as he took his turn to sign in. "I still don't know how he keeps doing that. It's driving First Aid up a wall and I almost had to use a plating saw just to open a cut for regular maintenance the other day." Popping open the dataport at his wrist, he let the panel read his software ID, then closed it. "Though I can't imagine why you'd want something as primitive as a manual screwdriver." 

"You'd be surprised how useful non-mechanized tools can be. And adaptable." Despite answering the medic, Brainstorm's gaze was focused entirely on the captain, shrewd optics squinted like a merchant about to negotiate an offer. "And you're serious? You're not joking? You guys usually don't like to make exceptions for 'Brainstorm rules.'"

"Me? Joke?" Rodimus brushed a hand over his chest in mock offense, right over the Autobot insignia. "When have I been anything but a hundred percent genuine? That's rhetorical, don't answer it. I'm serious about the tools, though." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to where Minimus was signing in. "Hand 'em over to short, stern, and serious. I'm pretty sure his subspace is like, three times the size of a regular one just to hold all the stuff he confiscates from you guys."

The name didn't even seem to faze the SIC, though there was a slight twitch in his facial insignia when he turned his optics on Brainstorm. "Actually, it's larger only because the Magnus armor requires use of the wearer's subspace to store and manipulate mass during transformations. But yes, I will hold onto your toolkits. All of them."

Blue optics crinkled in delight again, and the jet pulled a small rattling case from his own subspace and handed it to Minimus. "There we go! That's my toolkit!"

All three of the other bots looked at the single dented case on Minimus' palm, then back at Brainstorm. He cleared his vents with a soft gust of air, then reached back into his subspace and started rooting around.

It took several minutes to clear the pocket of all contraband. Three tool belts hung from Minimus' arms, several more coiled like snakes at his feet, and the amount of little cases he had already shoved into his larger subspace was definitely more than Rodimus thought a bot Brainstorm's size would be able to fit.

"Oh yeah!" The chirp in the jets voice was enough to ruffle the SIC's plating as he disengaged mechanisms in his forearms and popped out two separate compartments designed to look like part of his actual frame. "Almost forgot about these." 

"Forgot is not the word I would have used," muttered Minimus as he gingerly took the containers from the scientist. Having stowed it all, he accessed the sign in terminal to grant temporary guest access, and they entered the corridor.

Unlike in the days before, the hallway was now well lit, temporary lights standing in rows where the inlayed ones lay still dead. Drones worked on the faded and cracked murals, little orbs that hovered near the walls and scratched and welded away at lines worn by age and travel. One near the ground was resetting one of the gem etchings near the floor, though it was obviously struggling with a lack of materials. 

"Oooh, these don't look like the normal maintenance drones." Brainstorm bounced on up ahead to where they worked, examining its gleaming surface. Only about the size of his fist, it was bronze instead of the usually bright chrome of the ground drones, and upon closer inspection, he could see lines of bright red etched on their tiny frames. Whirling designs and pictograms encircled its metal skin, and from the look of it, each drone had a unique pattern.

The little drone paid him no mind, continuing its work as it burnt away at the metal with its etching torch. He pushed it gently with a finger and it merely drifted slightly out of position, then pulled itself back to its work. It did, however, react as the other three drew nearer, chirping a quizzical tune as it turned its single false optic to them. The thing must have been even more ancient than it looked, because he could actually hear the soft whirr of the zooming lenses in its eye.

It beeped again, repeating the same tune with a less questioning tone, and the other drones glanced at the small party as well, the beeping rising in volume as they all took up the sound. Rodimus stopped dead in his tracks, followed closely by the other two, as the drones dropped their work pattern and floated towards them, slowly and delicately.

"Hey, uh, Brainstorm? You know science and technology and stuff. What are they doing?" He drew back slightly as the leader stopped right in front of his chest, camera setting and resetting on different focuses. "Not a huge fan of the ancient titan drones suddenly swarming me like an angry mob."

The jet scoffed, twitching his wings downward. "How would I know? I'm not a robotics expert, I'm a weapons engineer. And I would say they're probably NOT weapons. I think." 

"Yeah, well, I'm not liking how close they're getting." Ratchet batted one away with his hand, but it seemed unperturbed, examining the spoiler flared up from the captain's back. The one at Rodimus' chest reset its camera one more time, then turned it up to his face, rattling off a string of official sounding chirps and sounds at him. When he just stared at it in confusion, it looked back down at his chest, then scanned the metal there.

He covered his chestplate with a scandalized arm, swatting the thing. "Woah, hey! No weird scans on the flame motifs! Especially since it's right over my spark!" The drone bobbed away, turned back to him with its single camera and extended a hidden arm, welder burning to life with a blue spark. Its companions followed suite, those with their built in welders already out lighting them and drawing in. 

Minimus frowned, taking a defensive stance. "I believe they may be displeased with you for some reason, Rodimus. I thought you'd gotten better about teasing the maintenance drones?"

"I didn't do anything! Not this time!"

Before the mob could put torches to plating, however, a long loud tone blasted from the farthest end of the corridor where the door to the processor chamber stood open, one of the normal chrome skinned cleaning drones outlined by the enormous entrance. It issued the tone again and the mob stopped, turning to face the cleaner as it wheeled itself down the hallway and past Brainstorm to halt just at the edge of the gathered drones. 

The lead drone replied to the tone with another series of official beeps, and the two chattered back and forth in the obsolete binary language for several seconds before the crowd of drones suddenly dispersed, save for the leader that floated there a moment longer before it returned to its spot at the wall.

Letting his stiff posture relax, Rodimus glanced around at his companions, all of whom were unharmed. "Well uh. That was weird! Really weird! Hopefully it doesn't happen again!" 

Minimus nodded, glancing at the drones where they once again did their work. "I do not like unknown elements on the ship, Rodimus. Perhaps we should see if they can be powered down until we ascertain they mean no harm?"

Before he could reply, the little cleaner bot took its turn to chirp at them, using one of its skinny arms to motion at them to follow it. None of their plating would lay flat until they reached the processor chamber, and even then, the soft hiss and crackle of extreme heat on metal as the drones worked followed them in. Inside, the enormous module flickered with illegible messages and bright light of all colors, throwing greetings in some obscure language at the newcomers as they stepped over cables and discarded tools, and a teal face popped from around the edge of one of the cord bundles.

Lotty smiled when she saw them, a bit of energon staining one of the branching sections of her helm. "Hello! I heard the etchers giving you trouble down the hall, you're lucky Champ was still down here. He's usually the one to straighten them out."

The cleaner drone waved its little arm at them again, then puttered over to where she was perched on a thick section of support near the base of the module. Digging through her toolbox, it handed her a laser scalpel, which she used on low setting to scribble some measurements onto the plating itself.

"It's probably cause you smell like a prime to 'em." Rodimus' spark nearly leapt out of his chest as Anode was suddenly there, leaning over a nearby connecting port near the brain module to grin directly in his face. "They can always tell which bots had their hands on the Matrix at one point. Was probably going to give you some fancy weld tattoos to match your station. Not sure where they come from, since they’re not a part of the big boy, but I think they’re fun.'"

“Oh, so little thief-y…thief hands could come into the cool magical titan brain,” muttered Brainstorm, squinting over the edge of his blast mask at her, “But not your good friend Brainstorm?”

Her tone drawled as she answered, wincing and readjusting so the cable didn’t press quite so hard into the patch on her belly. The edges were still rough, obviously not fully healed. “I’m a blacksmith, you’re a weapons engineer. Contrary to popular belief, blacksmiths ARE a kind of doctor. Not as good as a metallurgist…but I have more know-how in how to deal with chemically composed alloy viruses than a regular doctor, so I’m the best we’ve got.”

The uncomfortable silence hung there for a moment, then dropped to the floor and skittered out of sight when Lotty restarted her vocalizer. “I’ve got most of Champion’s basic subconscious routines started, so he probably has at least the processing power of your average bot, but he keeps going in and out to manually manipulate certain systems, like life support and the gravity generators. Going from his hardware, he should have ten time the amount RAM he’s currently running on.” She frowned, running a hand over a set of hard drives that had been dented by some unnamed force. “It’ll do for a meeting with Windblade, but I don’t know if we’ll get anything useful out of it.”

As Ratchet busied himself helping Velocity with last minute tune ups with Brainstorm watching in delight over their shoulders, Rodimus and Minimus gathered at the vid screen set in the far wall of the chamber. It was ancient, the screen actually closer to glass than the silicon alloy that was found in most technology or on bots these days. The captain tapped at the holo-keyboard below it, logging into his administrative account on the ship’s network to open the interstellar com redirect to this screen. 

“You’ve still got the lenses on,” muttered Minimus’ clipped voice in his audial, and he paused before continuing setting up the feed. Blaster had been on communications monitor for too many shifts in a row the past few solar cycles, and he wasn’t particularly interested in stuffing any more people than necessary into the chamber when they made the call with Windblade; he could monitor the call himself.

“I’m tired of feeling like I have a Titan sitting on my head just from squinting, Mins.” Rodimus ignored the twist of the SiC’s lips at the nickname, both too tired from too little sleep and too jittery from the nerves. “Just gonna suck to look like a nerd in front of the big Camien priestess and her crew. Or whatever she is now.”

“I believe she is considered representative of Caminus.” Minimus frowned at some of readouts on the bottom of the screen informing him of their signal strength. “And I don’t believe the cityspeakers are considered clergy.”

On the screen, a popup warned of an incoming message from a familiar frequency code. Straightening up and settling a sheaf of loose plating, Rodimus nodded, the aura of smooth overconfidence suddenly about him once again as he cocked a hip and crossed his arms securely over his Autobot Insignia. "Alright folks, it's show time!"


	9. 3 Mechs in a Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hghfks id love to see if anyone understands the reference. also i HATE how long winded i am this single scene was only supposed to b half the chapter

Metalhawk shifted from foot to foot, watching in vague interest as Windblade and Hot Shot traded quiet comments over the diagrams hovering in the air between them. The call wasn't set to start for about another ten minutes, but the leader of Cybertron had passed the entrance to the private comm suite almost a megacycle ago to find them in the very same position, helms nearly touching as they traded conversation on titans and religion and a lot of other subjects he wasn't quite that well versed on. Windblade had invited him in to join the conversation - the discovery of another titan was, of course, going to be of interest to the councilor - but they'd quickly lost him in turns of phrase and context that any bot born of Cybertron would never understand.

"No, I don't think it could be his greater RAM unit, because from the report Captain Rodimus sent, he's not having trouble with running multiple processes at once, just organizing them." Hot Shot pointed up to a section of the diagram, a series of hypothetical blueprints of the titans root mode, cobbled together from blueprints of his alt mode and what the crew had explored and seen. "We know it's at least in part his supplementary processors, but I don't know how many he's supposed to have since he's so small."

Windblade nodded, her newly painted full black helm catching the blue glow of the hologram. "We might have to get a specialist in to look at it; I've heard Northlight is visiting the newly rebuilt archives in town, they could probably draw something up for us." She caught Metalhawk's gaze where he leaned against the console of the main comm screen and smiled. "Apologies if this isn't the enrapturing discussion on cityspeaker culture and titan history you might have been hoping for, councilor."

He shook his head, straightening his posture. "Oh no, it's quite interesting. I just have very little context to fit it to. Even before the war, we had very little knowledge of titans or their history." He moved over to her side, squinting at the diagrams. "Although I can say, their biology is just as much of a mystery looking at this particular one."

Hot Shot grimaced, spinning the hologram with a jerky flick of his wrist. "We're in the same boat on that one then. I mean, Caminus has KNOWN that there are titans that don't take a city mode for a long time, but we've never actually interacted with them. There are enough differences between your average city titan that we have to study them as separate systems, but the difference between titans with different alt modes? We don't really have a frame of reference."

Catching the diagram in its lazy spin, Windblade flicked a wing and zoomed in on what appeared to be the main bridge of the ship mode. "If I'm guessing correctly, the biggest processor outside of the main module should be on the bridge somewhere, maybe integrated with navigation controls. Given how much of the ship mode can be controlled from there, it has to have some modicum of direct connection to the main equilibrium sensors, and on a titan that size, there's only so much room for a system that needs to be that big." She vented, her unlocked turbines spinning a bit at the movement. "It's going to be difficult. Metroplex was incredibly damaged when we first found him, but his system was one I had already studied during my training. I knew what things looked like on him."

The lights overhead glowed brighter for a moment, then dimmed back to their normal setting, and Windblade smiled softly up at the ceiling. "I know, big guy. Thanks for the support."

Despite his experience living in the internals of Metroplex, Metalhawk didn't think he'd ever get used to that. 

"Cityspeaker, it's about time for your call." Hot Shot drew the diagrams back into the projector, then subspaced it. "Is there anyone else you think needs to be here? I can send some last minute pings if you do."

Windblade shook her head. "No, I think you're all I'll need for this. I can almost guarantee that I won't be able to tell them what's wrong through a call, so there's no point getting every specialist in the order in here." She turned her look back to Metalhawk. "You're welcome to stay, councilor. I think you'll find the crew and captain of the Lost Light to be a bit of a breath of fresh air from what you have to deal with usually."

Hesitating, he drew up beside them at the comm console. "I've known captains and crews in my time that are just as capable of being stuffy as what we have here...but I have also heard some interesting stories, so it wouldn't hurt."

 She chuckled, adjusting her wings to give him space. "I wouldn't be surprised. I don't know him well, but from what little I have spoken to him, Captain Rodimus is...an unusual figure to say the least."

At the keyboard, Hot Shot keyed in the frequency code for the Lost Light's main deep space comm line, adjusting channel frequency as he did so. After a few kliks, the comm latched onto the ship's catching signal, securing the line and allowing the connection to stabilize. The line held the connection unanswered for a moment, and then a view of a round room appeared on the screen, largely dominated by a single strikingly red and gold figure, lenses perched on his nose.

Captain Rodimus of the Lost Light nodded in greeting, all toothy smiles and easy confidence. "Councilor Windblade! Love the new look, , very official. Always good to change it up once and a while. I had a great look going for a while a couple cycles ago, but cool colors aren't really the best look on me."

Windblade smiled in response, although some of it may have been amusement at the surprise evident in Metalhawk's EM field at the informal greeting. "Thank you, and good to see you as well. I figured a solid black on the helm and more yellow on the frame would make a nice contrast. Wouldn't want to let Starscream outstrip me as best member of the council in red. Keeps him on his toes."

The captain rolled his eyes. "He'd have a hard time doing that. Everyone knows he fills his paint with luster dust to make it shine more and it makes him look like an idiot. If I wanted to see myself in my own plating, I'd glue a bunch of mirrors to my chest and call it a day."

Hot Shot snorted an attempt to hide his laughter, but Windblade let hers out in the open. "Oh, I'm sure he's contemplated that before. But enough flattery, let's get down to the nuts and bolts of the call: your titan ship is injured and unable to communicate."

Twisting his lips into a frown, Rodimus stood aside so she could see the age spotted form of the enormous brain module glowing in the middle of the room. "He's in pretty bad shape. I'm not medic, and definitely not a cityspeaker, but there's a lot of damage here that we don't know how to take care of. And his language systems are all kinds of busted; I think most of it is Earth languages, but any of the bots on my crew know at most one of those." Glancing over his shoulder, he waved to one of the undefined figures in the background. "Hey Velocity, you know more about this than me. Come give Windblade the run down."

The familiar teal tines of Velocity's helm shuffled in the area behind him for moment, then she appeared fully in view, taller and wider than the built for speed captain. "Windblade! It's great to see you! Just wish it could be under better circumstances."

"That seems to be the norm for me these days." Her mouth quirked into a less formal and more genuine style, feeling a bit of the tension drain from the spread of her wings. "At least with this kind of thing, I'm an expert. Or at least, I know more about it than how to trade veiled insults with bored diplomats."

Metalhawk almost flinched at the informality in the cityspeaker's voice, but the medic nodded sympathetically, obvious not concerned with the proper procedure. It was obvious the two shared a fair amount of history. "Well, let's hope so. Champion is a little scrambled, to say the least, and I'd feel so much better if he could at least tell us where it hurt."

The view suddenly shifted, and it was obvious from the way it bobbed that the feed had been transferred to a handheld device of some sort. Velocity's face shifted out of the frame as it bobbed towards the module proper which, while not as large as Metroplex's, towered over the camera as it drew close. "I want you to at least look at some of the positions of the alert messages, because I know that can indicate where the issue is."

Both Windblade and Hot Shot crowded closer to the screen, squinting at the displays that glimmered in hovering clouds over the module, blinking in and out of existence. The latter tapped a knuckle joint one of them, concern creasing his young features. "He's got something going on with his supplementary connections. I thought they would just be damaged, but they might fully disconnected. I'm surprised the whole chamber has melted."

"Velocity," Windblade's voice was raised in order to get the medic's attention. "Could you shift the camera around so I can see the upper hind quadrant? Yes, like that." Her optics dilated, zooming in on several sections of twisted metal. "Mmm, looks like old damage; he hasn't been maintained in maybe the last million years at least. And the warning displays here and here indicate that he might be having issues with time differentiation. I won't know for sure until we get a translator in here."

On the other side, the view from the camera was starting to shake, and Velocity's voice was hissing into the background at someone the microphone wasn't picking up. There were a few more violent jerks of the camera, and the medic appeared again, her face twisted in irritation at something - or someone - off camera. "Do you have an expert on Earth languages there with you? I'm sure if we just knew what these meant and how to access them, we could figure out where most of the damage is."

Casting a look over his shoulder, Hot Shot cocked a brow ridge at Metalhawk. "I believe the council is in the midst of negotiating a trade deal with Earth in order to prevent the development of a black market from springing up...where's the Earth ambassador? She has a Cybertronian with her that has expert knowledge on Earth media...he may be able to help."

Windblade's expression jerked in a way that suggested she was not pleased with the idea. "He might be able to help..."

"...He's just a little particular about his...accommodations," finished Metalhawk for her, knowing exactly who she was talking about. "He's not technically a citizen of Cybertron either, so we can only ask him to do it. He may refuse. If the negotiations go well, we might be able to see if the humans have a human expert of their languages to ask instead."

Both Hot Shot and Windblade shook their heads. "We'd need someone who can understand and speak Cybertronian as well," said Hot Shot, tapping his fingers against the chin of his face plates. "And they have to be able to connect to data ports."

"Plus, you and I both know those negotiations are going to take ages before we get anywhere," mumbled Windblade, rubbing her hands over the edges of her helm. "If we want to get this done, we're going to have to ask for his help."

Suddenly Rodimus was in view again, pushing Velocity's face out so he could glare suspiciously into the camera. "So you can't just tell us how to fix it from your end? You're going to drag the whole council along onto my ship?"

"Oh please, the council wouldn't know one end of a titan from another," Windblade's voice was dry, her tone edged with that amused irritation. "Besides, this isn't a council matter. Cityspeaker affairs are specifically under my jurisdiction as representative of Caminus and dean of the newly established Camien Academy. The council would have to fight the entirety of Caminus if they wanted command of this."

His mouth worked for a second, then made a little O of surprise, as though he had expected a much different response. Resetting his vocalizer, he nodded and straightened up, ease and confidence in his smooth slouch. "I should really call home more often; seems you guys did a little spring cleaning in the ranks after I last visited."

Metalhawk took this chance to jump in. "If you mean we've made a point not to let power hungry tyrants and inexperienced soldiers guide the future of the planet, you'd be right. The Council of Worlds exists to make sure everyone gets a say, so of course we've put checks and balances in place to prevent power from collecting in one single place."

For a klik, the head councilor saw the charismatic charade drop, and the strength of the shrewd glare Rodimus offered nearly stopped his spark pulsing. It was a hungry, worried appraisal, something he would have expected from an enemy prisoner, as though deciding whether an escape attempt would be feasible, and Metalhawk was the jailer slated to be murdered during it. Then suddenly it was gone, evaporated by a loose smile that outshone a star and the lazy rhythm of his spoiler flicking back and forth. "So glad to hear that. You know how Cybertron tends to be with governments. Not great at them."

"Yes." His response was clipped, still startled. "But I'm determined not to let factions and corruption swallow us. We've made a point to have several stabilizing forces, and I have advisers from both sides of the civil war so as not to favor either."

"That's not the point of the call though; I'm sure we can have someone fill you in on all of this later." The formal mask was back on Windblade's face, polite smile. "I'm going to arrange a meeting with our language expert later and make sure he's comfortable with this, and then we can set up an official time to board your ship."

"It's becalmed. You have a way to get all the way out here?" 

She nodded, but her wings flicked irritation. "The repairs to Metroplex have nearly finished, and Wheeljack got it into his head to make the space bridge omni-directional. We won't need a port on your end, as long as you can give us proper coordinates to enter."

If this surprised him, Rodimus didn't show it. He merely cocked his hands into guns, pointing at her with a lazy wink. "Sounds great! You got our frequency code already, so just call us when you've got all your ducks in a row." 

Before she could respond, the screen turned dark, showing he'd ended the call. Hot Shot frowned, still staring into the black.

"What's a duck?"


	10. Insight: Fluxes

Charge fluxes hadn't used to be too much of an issue for Velocity, but ever since the sparkeater scraplet incident, they'd happened almost nightly. Usually they were just the same things; misty landscapes that she moved through, formless, occasionally catching sight of blurry shapes and retreating figures in the static. 

Tonight though, it was like waking up. Her optics booted to a soundless world, solid and very real, as though she had jolted from recharge. But at her charge port, she could still feel the soft thrum of energy where the ships berth connected to her neck, and even as her body began to move in her flux, the soft coolness of the slab caught her fans. 

"This is very real for a flux," her mind mumbled to her, but she mostly ignored it as her body moved upwards to stand fully, unsteady on two feet. She glanced down at her hands; not her own, too thick and blocky, but she couldn't figure out what that meant. Around her, she could recognize the bridge of the Lost Light, great windows giving a view of a repair dock and a city off in the distance. Her body attempted to take a step, then stumbled, knee joints and hips strangely weak. 

Her optics involuntarily flicked down to look at herself, noting a frame and paint job that lit a fire of unease and fear in her chassis, one of unknowns and unfamiliarity. "This...isn't right." She said it out loud, even though she couldn't ear it and she didn't mean to, and then hands were scrabbling at her arms and chest head. Her own hands, as they obeyed the violent seizure of dysphoria and pain that didn't really feel like hers. 

_Call him, call xxxxxxxxxxx and see if he knows where everyone is. He has your people. XXXXXXXXXXX wouldn't let something happen to them._

The urgent thought wasn't hers, and Velocity couldn't understand the rush of images and emotions and concept that took the place of the name in it. It felt like someone safe? A protector of some sorts? Was dream-her missing someone? This didn't feel like a memory or a fragment of broken data or misplaced systems crossing by accident, it felt raw and real and like it was happening right now and she HAD TO ESCAPE.

Her body hit the floor of her habsuite with a heavy clang, tires spinning uselessly on her shoulders, and she had to lay there, venting heavily enough to hurt. Coolant poured past her optics, trying to erase that desperate feeling of missing and clawing loneliness that was still simmering in her core.

 

Nautica crossed her legs, one over the other, one optic on her book and the other on Brainstorm sweeping piles of scrap metal and little devices into boxes. His wings ticked out of sync of each other in the way that they only did when he was clearly trying to hide something, and she had to duck behind her datapad so he wouldn't see how big the smile on her face was. "You know, they're sending cityspeakers, Stormy. Not enforcers."

His lab, a disastrous pit of broken equipment and packrat collections, had a single good chair left available to sit in, and she had taken it. He was too busy throwing more suspect bits and bobs into locked crates that he keyed to his spark signature.

"You can never be too careful, my fine aquatic friend!" Brainstorms voice was high and clipped, leeching a bit of the usual whimsy from it as he examined some sort of pistol, then tossed it into his garbage pile. "Millions of years with Autobot command hounding you on guidelines and safety specs will do that."

"Any crook worth their lubricant knows that," Anode called from across the room, where she had her arms elbow deep in a box used power crystals, scrutinizing each one.

Nautica rolled her optics, subspaced her datapad and wading through the wreckage over to the blacksmith's side. She still held her midsection delicately, and winced when she moved too fast, but her energetic mischief had returned en force. The submersible leaned down next to her face, examining the power crystals. "I'm still surprised they let you in here already. You caused a lot of trouble last time you came in here."

"Probably because I can't go much faster than a turbofox with two legs right now." Anode flicked another empty crystal away and dug her hand back in the box, pulling out a particularly round one. "Plus, Mini-Magnus figured having me help clean Brainstorm's lab as punishment would be fine as long as you were here, which doesn't make sense in the slightest, because I know for a fact you can cause just as much chaos."

Brainstorm stopped in place as he passed them, cradling a box against his chest like a new spark. "You better not be cleaning, I gave you that thing of spent zarcium to keep you out of my real stuff. Since even my garbage is too dangerous for you to handle, I don't want you even trying to mess with anything ACTUALLY in progress."

Both of them watched as he circled around to the incinerator, then tipped the contents of the box into the chute. It roared with violent pink flames for a moment, and then he tossed the box in as well, brushing rose colored soot off his plating. 

Velocity appeared at the entrance to the door then, shoulders slumped as she picked her way through the mess that blanketed the floor. Instead of crouching next to Anode and Nautica, she dropped to the ground, leaning against the cabinet behind them and tipping her forehead against plating of her knees. Brainstorm waved a flippant hand at her in greeting as she released a long, rumbling groan. "Hey guys."

Anode peeked over her shoulder, twitching a wing out of the way so she could see the medic. "Mmm, you look like someone busted a chair over your head last night, Lots. Thought you had the off shift last night."

"I did." Velocity's voice came out from between her legs with a metallic echo. "But I think I might have downloaded a malicious patch or something, because I've been having bad fluxes the past couple night cycles."

Nautica exchanged a frown with Anode, then scooted back to sit next to thej medic, folding her propellers around her shoulders so she could lean against the cabinet as well. Velocity's plating was warm when she draped an arm over her shoulders, a sign that the batteries for her temperature control were low. "It's probably all the hard work you've been doing, poor thing. And you have the cityspeakers coming soon too, that's a lot of pressure."

"Aw, come off it, Nauts." Pulling a crescent shaped crystal from the box, Anode squinted at the surface of it, inspecting it for imperfections. "Cityspeakers're nothing special. Remember that time Windblade had to get both her turbines replaced cause she tried using grounder grease instead of flight grade to clear out a some bits of rust cause she read on the school forums that the only reason fliers use a different kind was because the companies were trying to sell more? Like sure, they pull that slag all the time, but she probably should've asked a doctor about it."

"Windblade is technically a doctor." Velocity's chin was perched on her forearms now, and her yellow optics were glazed with exhaustion as she mindlessly watched Brainstorm blow about his lab. "She's licensed to practice medicine on any titan."

Anode snorted, tossed the crescent away. "Please. I'm more qualified to diagnose patients and treat them, and I have exclusive experience in natal medicine." Her fingers danced through the zarcium again. "Titans might as well be a different species. We have more in common with ammonites than we do with titans."

Velocity ignored the disdain, her gaze flicking over to Nautica's face. "How're the engines, Nauts? Still having trouble finding the actual issue?"

The submersible grimaced, leaning her head against one of the medic's shoulder tires. "No...I have so many theories, but until we figure out which of Champ's systems they're connected to in the first place, I don't think I'll be able to prove any of them. It's very obvious that he wasn't forged...built? With them. But the engineers in Unitrex look like they went around their aft to get to their elbow. There's no real rhyme or reason to which systems trigger them. I've never had an issue before because we usually only had to fix or work on the engines on their own, but it's clearly something wrong with Champ this time."

Knocking one of the tines of her helm against Nautica's propeller, Velocity chuckled. "Sounds like we're in the same boat then. I've been trying to figure out how his supplementary processors connect to the central hub for the past four solar cycles and have had zero luck. It's not a hardline connection because there isn't any cabling for it, and a broadcast signal wouldn't be reliable enough. He's got a brain damage across his whole body and I don't know the first thing about fixing it."

Suddenly, the medic's optics flickered, the yellow light dimming to almost nothing. Then they rebooted, and she vented, rubbing the palms of her hands into them. "It doesn't help that I'm exhausted, too. As soon as I start getting on the slab more than once every 3 solar cycles, and I can't even use it properly."

Nautica rubbed her fingers at the small of Velocity's back, just above her pointed waist kibble. "Have you talked to Rung about it? I know he insists he's not the ship's therapist anymore, but he's still a good sympathetic shoulder, and I think it cheers him up to know people still consider his opinion important."

"Maybe I will...but these fluxes are just...so odd." Straightening out of the curled over position, Lotty stretched her arms over her head, hearing the spinal struts click against each other as they realigned. "They feel so real, but they're not like any memory data I actually have. It's almost like I've got fragments of another bot swimming around up here." She tapped her knuckles against her temple.

Brainstorm stumbled past, holding a cage covered in a tarp to his chest. "Well, it wasn't the whole frame swap fiasco you and the other medics had the other solar cycle. I checked you all myself and there were NO remnants of the Hatchet or Aid in any of the processors they didn't belong in. You can ask Perceptor; he even insisted on checking behind me." He rolled his optics, shoving the cage into a hidden compartment above the cabinet. "As though I'd be so sloppy to leave behind anything that anyone but me could find it. And the medics are off limits for ridiculous shenanigans anyway. They're the only thing standing between me and a scrap heap next time something blows up."

Anode indicated the mess around him without even looking up from her box. "Seems a little sloppy to me."

"Cleanliness is a sign of an empty processor," he snapped, shooing her out of the way so he could snatch up an inscrutable device that had been tucked under her knee. "I have more important things to do than CLEAN all the time."

"You know, some would argue that other engineers clean because they don't want to injure themselves," Nautica quipped, tucking her arm back around Lotty. Her friend was markedly larger than her, but she still made a point to stretch as far as she could into her side. 

He shoved several items into his subspace, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Disgraceful. You're not a brilliant genius if you don't have at least three different dangerous chemicals open on the counter at all times."

Velocity laughed, curling closer into Nautica. "Hope the cityspeakers feel the same way when they come through. I heard Rodimus was going to have them enter through your lab, since your 'work' has made it so receptive to their space bridge."

Brainstorm's thrusters almost burst into life as he tripped over himself to finish cleaning up.

 

Nautica woke from deep recharge to the sound of Velocity's engine revving loud enough to deafen her, and she flicked her audials off on instinct. Her chronometer told her it was still deep into the night cycle, so with a sigh, she shoved herself off her berth and shuffled over to Velocity's side, flicking her hearing back on.

"Lotty...Lotty, sweetspark, it's a flux." Lotty's shoulder was hot to the touch, and her fans coughed and stuttered as she thrashed, wheels tearing at the berth in recharge driving even as her root mode grasped at the edges of the slab. This was the first time she had been loud enough to wake Nautica up, and it was a little frightening for the submersible to see her roommate in so much distress.

"...Where...gotta find them..."Velocity's voice whispered almost silently, her lips barely moving. Nautica paused, brushing a hand over the medic's hot forehead, feeling the soft thrum of her uneven fans vibrating the too warm metal. 

She couldn't be sure what Lotty was seeing, but Nautica knew she didn't like it. They'd known each other for a long while, and she'd never known Lotty to get these kinds of things; sure, she could be anxious about her performance as a doctor, and she tended to get a little too into her own head when bad things happened, but fluxes? Anything vivid enough to cause this kind of reaction was usually a sign of something more worrying.

When shaking her by the shoulder several more times didn't wake Lotty up, Nautica vented in frustration and worry, before tucking her fingers in between the slab's edge and her roommate's hand. The clenched fist eagerly grabbed onto her hand, denting the joints with the stronger force.

Lotty continued to scrabble at the berth with the other hand, but Nautica calmed a bit when she saw her terrified expression relax a bit, softening where it crinkled across the brow and between the optics. Her weight settled on the slab as she sat down, her hand linking her tightly to the thrashing medic. She wished she could lean over and plant a soft kiss between the optics to somehow smooth out the worry lines forming there, but instead she just leaned against one of Velocity's tires. Her own engine kicked on, plateauing into a soft comforting purr instead of the ragged beat. 

After a long time, the snarl of an engine quieted, settling into a snoring purr as well, and Nautica leaned her head against Velocity's shoulder, optics flicking off.  


	11. Conference Call

 The hum of Windblade's turbines slowed as her descent to the outer offices did, little bits of debris and sand whipping around the landing pad as she transformed at the last second. She touched down to the polished metal surface, feet tapping right against the center of the sigil of New Cybertron that had been etched there. 

A few other mechs were landing or taking off from their finished work day, one or two offering her a polite wave as they hurried to get home. Outside of the main legislative building, the New Iaconian Archive Center was probably one of the busiest areas of government, home to the offices that dealt with day to day administration. It was on the tail end of when most people would be working though, and she'd only managed to snag this meeting because the particular mech she was meeting with stayed much later than he probably should in his cramped office.

The automatic door hissed as it opened, and Windblade flicked the dust off her wings before she entered. At the reception desk, a slightly built mech with optics the size of hubcaps and an extra arm looked up over the rims of a set of corrective lenses and offered her a welcoming smile. "Councilor Windblade! I had you on my list today, but I wasn't sure if you were actually scheduled or if it was a glitch, since it's a bit late for a meeting. Most everyone's gone by now."

She offered him a smile of her own as she handed over her ID information to be checked. "Oh, I'm meeting with the council's Autobot advisor, Threadbare. You know how he is." 

He returned her ID ping with an affirmation and a sympathetic expression. "Yes I do. We've had to have security officer Ironhide in three times this past week because he was staying past building lockup and tripping the alarms. I'm surprised he manages to keep on his feet with all the work he does."

Despite her attempts to maintain her professional manner, Windblade couldn't help but roll her optics. "Trust me, people a lot better at it than me have tried to talk to him about it, but it takes time. Everyone's still healing from the war, and I wouldn't want to push him, especially since he's half the paperwork side of the government at this point."

Threadbare hummed thoughtfully, signing her in on the meeting list. "I suppose...I was a neutral though, so I don't particularly have the experience to comment on how veterans cope. You can go straight back, he doesn't have anything else scheduled so I doubt he's going to remember to pull his nose out of his datapad long enough to come get you."

She nodded and they exchanged a few more pleasantries, then she strode into the hallway to the right, heels clicking loudly on the aluminum tiled flooring. 

Several offices lined the corridor, larger ones with cubicle desk areas and smaller singular rooms meant for higher ranking officials or those who conducted more confidential business. The head engineer of this particular building - it had been a Constructicon, but Windblade still had a bit of trouble telling who was who in that group - had insisted that they were going to build this particular building for both practicality AND looks. The offices were only part of the New Iaconian Archive Center's purpose; the floor above housed the remaining shreds of the original cultural and historical archives that had once stood here. Apparently, that was reason enough to design the place with the typical decorations of flourishing architecture of original Iaconian buildings. 

Prowl's office wasn't anything fantastical though, tucked back into the corner nearly behind a fake house plant. Having visited it several times, however, Windblade picked it out easily enough, folding a wing down so that she wouldn't knock over the plant as she entered the already open door. The office itself was tiny, crammed with shelves lined with datapads and papers, the desk shoved into the corner equally as messy. The advisor sat there with his back to her, lazily signing something in the Cybertronian dialect of sign language at a vid link screen to a bot that looked not unlike him.

Trying not to startle him, she let her idling engine kick up just the barest amount, and he acknowledged her presence with a quick glance over his shoulder and a flick of one of his doors. He spoke to the mech on the other side of the vid call for a few more seconds, then signed off and stood, nodding officially at her. "Councilor. It's good to see you."

Windblade offered a stiff nod in return, aware that he hadn't yet slipped back into verbal speech perfectly as his vocalizer fizzed on the first word. She'd been meaning to learn some of the Cybertronian dialect of sign language, as a lot of bots that had been injured or traumatized in the war used it, but even years out from the creation of the council she barely had time to sleep, let alone learn anything new. "Windblade's fine for this meeting. It's really more about my capacity as a cityspeaker than a councilor, anyway."

The line of tension across his shoulders didn't ease even a touch, but he hummed in agreement before offering one of the seats crammed against the wall to her. "I anticipated as much. You're here for my suggestions for the Lost Light team, correct?"

She fell into the chair, grateful that Prowl's kibble meant his furniture also catered to those with wings. "Yeah, I was hoping I wouldn't have to go in blind on this one. I met Rodimus back before I first came to Cybertron, but I know next to nothing about him and his team. I think someone has even suggested the Lost Light be considered sovereign territory at this point, and Primus knows how that could affect any negotiations I have about the future of this Champion titan."

Prowl cocked a brow as he shuffled through datapads on his desk, choosing to remain standing as he spoke. "You think you'll have to speak for him? I was given the impression that titans were perfectly capable of advocating for themselves." He chose one, squinting at it with his mismatched optics; the injury he had sustained to the left had spark printed, and even when it had been replaced, he hadn't been able to see with it. It glowed an uncanny white instead of his other's soft baby blue, and she'd seen him intimidate much larger councilors into agreement with his strange glare. "In fact, I thought them to have more processing power than a full city of average sized mechs."

She shrugged, taking the datapad. "They do, but they're also fairly vulnerable because of how we can get into their insides so easily. Plus, the Lost Light was technically purchased in a lawful exchange of currency, and while slavery isn't legal on Cybertron, I'm sure there are courts out there where it can be argued." Tapping her fingers against her chin, she examined the names on the list.

"Oh, that's a non-issue." He was already pawing through more paperwork on his desk, not looking at her. "Ultra Magnus is part of the ship's command, he'd deactivate before he'd allow something like that. And despite my...distaste for the way Rodimus runs things, he's not someone I'd ever believe would stoop that low. He might throw a fit if this Champion decides he's not up to the whole fantastical quest thing, but he'd still let him go." He squinted at several pages in his hand, then looked over at Windblade. "Did I hand you more than one datapad?"

She handed the extra one back, unable to completely silence the amused spin of her turbines. "You really need to get those glasses Hook has been pestering you about. I don't want you to come after me in the hallway again because you think I'm Starscream and you have some more resources you want to squeeze out of him."

"That was only once. And I did apologize." He scrolled down the screen of the datapad, entering information at appropriate intervals. "You'll notice I put a few names on there as 'miscellaneous.' Those are people I believe should be included for personal reasons; the Lost Light didn't exactly depart on the...best of terms for many of us, and I believe a chance to reconcile some old issues will leave the ship's command in a more amicable position for negotiations."

Checking off another name on the list, Windblade glanced up at him. "You think it'll come to the necessity of negotiations? They have requested our help, you know."

She could just barely see the quirk of a smile edging at the corner of his mouth as he turned back from his desk to the bookshelf behind him. "The final resort, I can promise you that. Rodimus was a well known trouble maker before the war, had quite the rap sheet for things like attacking government officials, defacing public buildings, the like." The premonition of a smile grew into an actual one, still barely visible as he flicked a door in her direction. "Not that I blame him. Look up what happened in Nyon at some point, it'll tell you a lot more about him than I can. What that means in the end, though, is that he's naturally distrustful of government structures. You have to play this like it's informal and unofficial or else any suggestions you make are going to be ignored or rejected."

Frowning, she let the datapad fall to her lap as her gaze wandered off into the middle distance. "I guess I'm not used to having to interact with a go between when there's a titan involved. Most of you just...assume that Camiens know the best when it comes to titans."

Prowl actually snorted at that, pulling out a historical text about the city-states pre-war to give to her. "With how things have been going recently, Rodimus and his entourage will probably have inducted the titan into the crew and given it a title by the time you get there."

She took the text and subspaced it, then looked more fully at the Miscellaneous list on the datapad. One name in particular caught her eye. "The rest of these are fine, but I'm curious as to why you put him down. He's fairly integral for everyday stuff...won't sending him just make your life harder?"

Prowl glanced at the name she meant, and grimaced. "In all honesty, I would prefer he not go, but as much as he tries to hide it, I know he wants to. And keeping him happy keeps everyone else happy, since he seems to be one of the few people around here that almost everyone listens to."

"Despite not having a title."

He vented, finally falling into his wheeled desk chair. "Well technically he does, but being the sensitive information courier for the council doesn't exactly give you a lot of privilege. I just know he has some unfinished business with someone on board that ship that he hasn't been able to deal with, and if he can fix that then there should be a morale boost for everyone around here."

Her searching gaze lingered on his face for a moment longer, then she sighed, shrugging. "He's still got unfinished business with a lot of former Decepticons here, but I'll take your word for it. I've put time into learning about Cybertronian history, but personal vendettas are not something I want to get in the middle of." She stood and stretched, her wings almost knocking a pile of datapads off one of Prowl's crooked shelves. "I don't think we have to worry about it though; you know how he has that stubborn sense of obligation that'll have him back here running all your terribly fascinating building forms to contractors within the day of getting on the Lost Light."

"Be sure he is." Prowl was already slipping back into the forms that had half occupied his attention before Windblade had entered, and she chuckled, used to this behavior from this particular mech. Instead of offering a farewell, she slipped from the room as the vid call screen appeared once again, and a genuine smile sprung onto the stiff adviser's face as he resumed his signed conversation.


	12. Diplomacy

The spacebridge hub took up almost the entire wall of the unfurnished ballroom, patchwork shades of welded metal panels a testament to just how quickly it was put together. Its hulking shape made things a little too real for Rodimus as he compared it to the draping chandeliers of platinum and marbled obsidian tiles overhead, several missing shingles where Hound and Trailbreaker's games of springball got a little too rowdy. One of the balls still remained lodged firmly in the mirror paneled ceiling, and none of the fliers had felt motivated enough to jet up and get it, so the soft violet glow of the thing's anti-grav pads joined the harsh white light in that corner of the football field sized room.

His attention snapped back to the hub as bright blue energy arced along the spacial spires that bristled around the outside ring of the hub, like the spines of an angry spoke cat. Perceptor paused from where he stood behind the hastily constructed console that controlled the whole device, and the captain could almost hear the sound of the replacement optical array zoom in on his startled face from behind the pane of glass that hid it. Then the microscope glanced back down at the fritzing screen, acting like he hadn't seen the startle.

"We're testing the startup procedure now, captain. It's still another five minutes before we are expected to receive the spatial handshake from Metroplex's spacebridge." His tone was soft, softer even than usual for the scientist.

"Good!" Rodimus didn't actually feel the chipper confidence he projected in his words as he straightened up from his slouched position against the back of the console. Managing to snag a loose bolt between the segments of his foot from off the ground, he snatched it out of the cleft and pegged it cleanly through the air to bounce against the back of one of Brainstorm's wings. "Yo, Brainstorm!"

The engineer looked down from where he was affixing a last minute patch to the peak of the ring, hanging upside down from the ceiling because of course that was the best position for him to do his work. "You know, I CAN hear. You don't gotta throw garbage at me to get my attention."

Rodimus pointed at where the bolt had fallen among a pile of metal shavings and other various connectors in Brainstorm's shadow. "Maybe you shouldn't leave so much garbage laying around then. We've got the super-duper kind of official fanshy-smanshy people coming. Don't want them to realize we live like turbofoxes."

The look both scientists gave him was absolutely stunned. Brainstorm spoke first, voicing both his and Percy's thoughts with one voice. "You DO live like a turbofox, captain oh captain. Last I heard, you had to change the locks on your office to keep Magnus from coming in and wreaking cleaning destruction on it."

Shifting from foot to foot, looking all the world like he was about to explode, Rodimus glanced over his shoulder and out the door. "Look, I...most of everyone back on Cybertron already thinks this whole ship and quest was a mistake, and that's without knowing that Cyberutopia is just a giant euthanasia clinic. I don't need to give them any more reasons to justify doing something...unfair."

"They wouldn't dare with Xaaron and I on board." Ultra Magnus, suited once again in the full blue and white splendor of his armor, strode through the ballroom entrance, frown pointed at the springball in the ceiling instead of the three at the console. "We both know just how precarious a position that kind of action could put them in with the Tyrest Accords, let alone half the other intergalactic treaties the Cybertronian government has entered since the rebirth of our planet." Pointing at the damage in the chandelier and glass panels, he finally looked at Rodimus. "Did you know about this?"

The captain rolled his eyes, waving a hand at his second. "Don't worry about it right now. We just have to hope that they don't look up, 'cause I don't have time to get a repair crew up here right now."

"No, you don't." Percy's voice held a tinge of his characteristic dry humor and his fingers flew across the keyboard of the console, scope kibble clicking as it zoomed and refocused. "I'm getting the spatial handshake right now, captain. Once I respond, our hub will be locked onto Metroplex' spacebridge, and we will not be able to connect with any other spacebridge. Permission to respond?"

It was now or never. "Yeah," he replied. "Grab 'em on. If they send Wheeljack through though, he's going to harangue you guys about how you built the hub as soon as he gets here, but I want both of you here with me. Magnus, front and center." 

Both captain and second in command moved to stand centered by the bridge entrance, Magnus with his hands folded neatly at the base of his spinal strut and Rodimus with his arms loosely crossed over his chest, hiding the Autobot symbol. By now, Brainstorm had lowered himself to the ground, harness removed from his Kibble, and he was muttering softly to Percy as he leaned over the smaller bot's shoulder, wings perked to attention. 

A scent of ozone and other places started trickling into the air around them as more bolts of brightest blue skipped between the spires, cracking the world like thin glass, leaving imprints in Rodimus' optical suite that didn't fade before the next bolt appeared. It began to spiderweb between the pyramid shaped nubs that lined the inside of the ring, and he felt his plating try to flatten instinctively at the presence of so much exposed energy in the room. A hit from that kind of raw electricity wouldn't be stopped by airtight internals, but something in the back of his processor willed it even tighter as the spiderweb began to transform into a pool.

It took about two minutes for the image of somewhere else to begin dissolving into the crackling blue white electricity that the hub's ring framed, and all the while the ventilation stopped, not a bot cycling air in the fear of catching a stray spark. Building this kind of technology so quickly and with the kind of materials they had their hands on...it was dangerous, to say the least, but so was drifting, directionless, through space a million lightyears from home in a titan with severe brain damage and ever dwindling supplies. 

So Rodimus was only a little surprised to find himself relieved at the sight of a blurry ultramarine figure materializing through the flickering pool of electricity, and he stepped forward as the figure did, moving to shake hands with...was that...?

Thundercracker of Helex met his outstretched hand with such genuine enthusiasm it almost knocked the captain of the Lost Light (a titan with some of the most advanced engines known to Cybertron,) former holder of the Matrix of Leadership, and scrappy Nyonian freedom fighter, on his aft.

"Captain Rodimus!" Despite the harsh rasp in his voice caused by old war damage, Thundercracker lived up to his name by nearly deafening everyone in the room. He clasped Rodimus' hand with almost enough force to dent the metal on some of his smaller fingers, and shook it like a turbohound with a bone. "Great to be aboard your ship! Or, I guess your crew mate? Is that what you call it? Him? Them?"

The captain could hear the click of gears as Ultra Magnus primed to move, but he gave him a subtle "back down, he's just an airhead" with a barely visible flick of his spoiler against the giant's arm as, hand in Thundercracker's and other covering the black knuckle joints, he offered a roguish smile. "Course Champ's a crew mate! Just a big, kinda quiet one. And Thundercracker, yeah? Just call me Rodimus. Captain is only for when I'm feeling pompous."

There came an amused and poorly muffled vent of air from behind him, and he didn't have to look to know Brainstorm was laughing at him. He ignored it, choosing instead to give Thundercracker's hand one final squeeze. 

The ex-Con didn't seem to notice the unease in the energy around him, glancing this way and that to take in the entirety of the still slightly dirtied and damaged ballroom. Obviously a lot more than his occupation had changed in the wake of the war; there was hardly a touch of the old seeker trio look left in the rounded bubbly shapes of his armor now, and though Rodimus didn't make a habit of getting up close and personal to three of Megatron's heavy hitters during the fighting, he could have sworn the flier's frame was reduced. As though someone went in and scooped out any mods and extraneous parts.

With a touch of irritation, Rodimus had to admit he was more handsome for it. He didn't LIKE admitting that kind of thing, even to himself.

"Did you know that the human stereotype of a ship captain in western cultures is of an aged male with a big facial insignia and missing a lower limb?" Suddenly crimson optics were back on the actual captain, and the question threw Rodimus so hard the informal nonchalance slipped off his face and he frowned.

"It's...I'm sorry?"

Before Thundercracker could repeat the question, a silver hand appeared on his arm, and a yellow mech was there, a case of tools in his other hand. "Ambassador Thundercracker, we're here for a reason. Apologies, captain, he's been talking about human sailing media all morning. I honestly don't understand most of it." The newcomer was obviously a cityspeaker, with the read whorls of paint below his bright blue optics, and he carried himself with the same odd grace as most Camiens did. What had Percy said? Something about a gravity difference? "I'm Speaker Hot Shot of Femorii. I'm the current acting head priest of the diplomatic sector of our Cybertronian based temple. We apologize for not coming sooner."

Making a dramatic show of waving his hand, Rodimus shifted his weight onto a single foot, popping out a hip to rest the other hand comfortably on. "S'not like it's your fault. We're a bit out of your neighborhood right now anyways. Loved all the transferring Screamer did with me on that first call though. Great secretary the Council picked."

Before either of the newcomers had a chance to reply, Magnus spoke up. "So you are a priest? Because regulations for welcoming clergy members aboard a ship in peace time are different for those of laymen according to Autobot code."

Hot Shot's nose scrunched in a look that, Rodimus thought, made him look a bit like an irritated Earth pug. "The Cybertronian dialect of neocybex unfortunately does not have a word with the proper context for people of my rank, and none of the percussive modifiers you use that I know are right to apply to the word 'priest' either." Gears clicked in his jaw as he worked it in thought, then said, "Perhaps something like a specialist? But that is too vague...although on Caminus we are considered a type of medic, even if we do not study the same curriculum as well."

Before Magnus could reply - and Rodimus could tell he desperately wanted to have a three hour conversation on semantics with Hot Shot - several more bots shuffled their way through the portal, carrying crates and containers of giant sized medical equipment and cables matching the ancient ports on Champion's brain module. Though these newcomers had red city speaker markings stenciled onto the metal beneath their optics, the designs were much less intricate, and shone with the rougher texture of temporary paint. 

One of the smaller bots loped up to Hot Shot's side, muttered something to him that the captain couldn't hear, and Hot Shot nodded. "I apologize, captain. It seems like one of our number is going to be a bit late, and he won't be able to stay for that long. A...situation has come up on Cybertron that will require his assistance, but he still wanted to visit your ship nonetheless. I believe he called in a favor to councilor Windblade about it." He looked back to Ultra Magnus. "And treat me like you would a visiting physician. My priority here is repairing the damage, not getting wrapped up in pomp and circumstance."

The last statement twitched downward with an obvious disdainful tone; apparently, the city speakers were less concerned with tradition and regulation than it had seemed from Nautica's and Velocity's few stories of them lead the crew to believe. Magnus nodded, tension easing out of his broad shoulders in such a small amount that anyone not privy to his typical habits wouldn't notice. "Excellent. Perhaps Ambassador Thundercracker can remain here with the captain, so he can learn the lay of the ship? I was lead to believe his translation skills will not be needed upon first examination."

Hot Shot nodded, then began directing many of the acolytes he had brought with him to unpack certain items from the boxes, and Perceptor then had them stack the empty containers in the corner of the ballroom. Rodimus watched the hubbub from a bit of a distance as Thundercracker chattered amicably at a delighted Brainstorm, who seemed to be quite entertained by whatever the other jet had to say. The captain suspected it had more to do with the readouts with the readout on the device in Brainstorm's than the actual content of the conversation going on, but he wasn't going to ask. 

Something about the sudden flurry of movement and general chaos had soothed the prickling nerves in his spark, and he suddenly realized just how much the inaction and preparation had been bothering him until this moment. 

The flames on his chest may have been decoration, but they definitely represented all the pent up energy that buzzed in his circuits those few weeks Champ had been floating in space, half transformed and hurting. Rodimus of Nyon did not LIKE being forced to sit on his aft and do nothing when the people close to him and in his charge were in pain; he hadn't liked it 4 million years ago, when he watched Zeta (he refused to think of him as an Actual Prime) cannibalize the people of Nyon just because he could. 

"Do you have a corner of the ship Buster can use?" Thundercracker's direct address wrenched him from his brooding, and Rodimus looked properly at him instead of gazing off into space. Brainstorm had wandered off to show Percy the readouts on his device, and it looked like Thundercracker had not followed.

"Buster?"

Uncurling a black hand, the ex-seeker revealed a tiny Earth dog, with a slightly mushed muzzle and a tail curled neatly in a little knot. The dog wore a crinkled space suit like a human astronaut, complete with a breathing globe obviously made with Cybertronian technology that allowed solids to pass through, but no foreign gasses beside what was circulating in the life support system. The dog made a sound sort of like a vacuum drone with something stuck in its nozzle, then looked up at him. 

"Buster is my dog!" The pride in Thundercracker's grin was bright enough to be near blinding, and he held it up closer to Rodimus' face. "Marissa got her for me to help with something the Earth therapist called cybernetic shock response syndrome!" He cupped his free hand behind his mouth, as though whispering about a conspiracy. "To be honest, I think they probably just mean PTSD, but you know how medics and scientists can be, even human ones. They'll call something differently in a flier than they will a grounder before admitting they're the same damn thing."

"You have an Earth therapist?" Rodimus looked from the jet's excited face to the dog, then back again. "I mean, don't get me wrong, everyone I know could use therapy, but does Earth therapy really work? Humans are cool, but we're not exactly the same species. Seems like it'd be like...a human medic trying to work on me." He let Buster trot confidently from the black hand to his own yellow, her nose to his palm the entire time despite being unable to actually smell anything.

"Oh, it's a team effort. There's like, fifteen of them." Thundercracker watched as Buster started nosing in between two sections of a thumb, pulling her away so her face wouldn't get stuck in the joint. "I was mostly just humoring them at first, but for a species that lives for such a short time, they know a lot about how their own brains work. And we're not super different, personality wise." 

He produced a length of rope so small it almost hid between his pinching forefinger and thumb, but the dog jumped up excitedly and gripped it between snaggled teeth. "I think we just have longer to hold grudges. Humans die so quickly, their conflicts usually die with them. Least that's what I told Veronica last week. She thought it was interesting." 

Bright red optics turned back from Buster to Rodimus. "But you got a corner for her? Earth organics need to relieve their waste every now and then, and I haven't trained her how to use an oil exchange." He frowned. "Not that I think that would even work. Plus, it'd be way too big."

The speedster watched the dog thrash her head back and forth, barely able to feel her paws on his hand because she was so small. "Just take her down to the airlock disposal. We use that for sanitized medical waste and stuff, since it's all burned before we shoot anything out." He squinted down at Buster as she lost interest in the rope and began digging at the mesh between the sections of his palm. "You don't have like, a weird Wheeljack-esque explosive dog do you?"

Thundercracker plucked her out of his hand, subspacing the rope toy. His wings hitched upward at the question,  though Rodimus didn't quite know what that meant on this particular flier. "Buster ONLY sees vets that have had background checks and passed my extensive tests. I'd never let a _scientist_  touch her." The word was dripping with disdain, like it was an insult. "She's just a really good dog. You got a map? I don't know where the airlock is."

Pinging the jet's open frequency, Rodimus quickly transmitted a map of the currently jumbled titan ship to Thundercracker, who examined it for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction and took off suddenly at a surprisingly quick clip. By now, most of the necessary equipment had been unloaded, and only a few of the cityspeaker acolytes loitered in the ballroom, straightening up what was left or quizzing one of the two scientists who'd been left behind. 

"That was nice of you." Someone - probably one of the acolytes, Rodimus wasn't really paying attention - sidled up to his elbow, watching Percy detail out the new safety violation Magnus had recently instated to a baffled looking cityspeaker. "Thundercracker has a bit of trouble getting friendly with people back on Cybertron. Autobots never forgot he used to be a Decepticon, and Decepticons remember he was a deserter. And a lot of bots think him having an organic pet is a little off putting."

The captain was too transfixed on watching the cityspeaker ruffle the myriad of little kibble appendages on their back in obvious frustration as Percy started listing contraband compounds to turn to the speaker, but he nodded, humming his engine softly in thought. "You get used to weird stuff on board here. Landing crew and I got lost in a big warehouse store on a merchant planet for two weeks once. Turned out the whole place was powered by a quantum generator that had been malfunctioning and pushing rooms around. Our mechanic only got it working by yelling at it loud enough to shame it into putting everything back in the right place."

Silence, followed by the tap of something on the ground. "That sounds like something that shouldn't work, but it probably did. I stopped trying to understand any machine more complicated than my own rear axle when people started to be able to mess with abstract concepts with them." The tap sounded again, followed by a strange buzzing that Rodimus thought sounded like a very unhealthy engine. "That's Wheeljack's job. I'm just the mail guy."

Rodimus finally turned, still trying to decide between agreeing with the speaker and asking if they wanted to see Ratchet or someone for the DEATH RATTLE in their engine, but the question died on his lips. Very few things rendered him speechless, but finding that Optimus Prime's penchant for being the most unkillable pile of bolts and pig iron was spreading to other Autobots was one of them.

Bumblebee tapped the cane in his hands against the floor for a third time, wincing as the struts in his knee creaked. "I think I owe him an apology too, actually. Was rushing through the space bridge at the last second and almost knocked him in. It would've clipped his feet off when it closed since he's taller than me." The buzz rattled in the little yellow bot's torso again, and he looked at Rodimus. "You got a second to talk?"


End file.
